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Later- several bottles later- came the big moment of truth. Would our ill calculated alp mixture “go off” as well as the alp-pimp-meister’s obviously did- or would toblerton’s alps resemble oversized Dairylea Triangles in a weird brown colour??

We had full alpine stand-to-attention, rock-like mini mountains, and it brought a tear to the eye of more than one hardened pimp, I can tell you…

Now with a base cut from a dvd player box, supported by a hastily baked huge biscuit to lend strength to the base of toblerton itself, we arranged the alps into that tell-tale shape- the little mountains back to back along the length of the foil lined cardboard canyon.

Yet more melted chocolate was poured over the top of the whole thing, to add strength, not to mention that “alpine fresh” lustre, and we were ready for several last drinks before bed. Well, it was half past four in the morning…

On waking the next day, all that was left to do was a quick trim-up of excess chocolate, and Voila- we had reversed the insult that Swiss history had thrown at our inspirational pimp-guru, and I’m sure we’re all better people as a result. I for one can sleep again.

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