KFC has been a staple in my diet since my parents and I moved over from Communist Russia in the early eighties. We lived in Blackpool within walking distance of a ‘Kentucky Fried Chicken’ as it was known back then. I used to go along everyday and come back with fried chicken to feed the family.
We did not yet own a Television and my English was limited to ordering food and swearing at the postman (we thought he was breaking in every morning to steal Papas collection of walking sticks). When my English was good enough I joined a school and tasted school dinners. This food tasted more like the food I had in Russia but I still ate it for fear I would be sent to back to a labour camp. I would go home after school and sit with my parents singing songs about the motherland whist eating yet more delicious Fried Chicken. Eventually we got a Television and I truly felt British when we sat down and ate in front of the flickering screen. I liked Noel Edmunds and Jeremy Beadle best of all (I think it was their beards).
KFC was the glue that held us together through those turbulent years. And your handy wipes were what kept us clean until we figured out how to pay the water rates. I wanted to let you know how I sometimes think of the colonel like a kindly Uncle and someone I owe my life to.