This story concerns a very good friend of mine for many years.

Like a lot of people he was very careful with his wallet and sometimes suffered from deep pocket syndrome.

When he was invited to parties were as most people took a bottle of cheap wine, or a party six, he always brought a large jar of pickled gherkins, which even the most hardened party animals never went near.

So he gleefully took them back home with him again when the party was over.

This went on for many a Christmas, each time he came to a party the famous pickled gherkins jar would accompany him, it soon became a running joke.

Not everybody laughed about his meanness and at the next party heavily fuelled with rocket powered home brew bitter, a plan was hatched to rid us of the dreaded curse of the green gherkins, once and for all.

We decided to bite the bullet and try and open the ancient jar of pickled gherkins, without the aid of a safety net or gas mask, dangerous stuff!

One of our friends grabbed an old tea towel and picked up the jar, the jar seem to have a cross thread and was extremely difficult to open.

Soon purple in the face he was about to give up when, he tried turning the lid the other way, eureka the jar opened, and a strong smell of very old vinegar filled the room followed by the smell of old gherkins which were later eaten by a greedy gatecrasher from Liverpool.

My friend heard about his precious gherkins finally being opened, I could tell by his face it was the end of an era a journey from youth into manhood a right of passage, it had all the classic hallmarks of an initiation ceremony without the blood.

We were all worried about him in case the shock killed him!

We all waited with bated breath to see what my friend would bring to the next party, and wondered what happened to the gatecrasher after eating the antique gherkins?

The next party our friend turned up with a very old jar of giant pickled onions instead, and announced in a loud voice "Son of gherkins has arrived."

This time we made sure no legend was allowed to be developed.

We scoffed the pickled onions between us, pulling faces often seen in the hall of mirrors