Burnt was indeed in a bit of a pickle.
The Origination  – as you should know, of course, had you been paying attention …

   Burnt found himself inside a broad – based bottle, made of thickened gloss glass ; a large opaque pub – jar.  After a moment of reflection , Burnt realised, although tangibly unnervingly, that he had become a liquorice – coloured sort of  .. well .. liquorice drink  – long lean black and foamy to the tip of his top

Then, abruptly, he was lifted up from the counter and a slurping sound was heard as his quiff was radically altered. He became light – headed Then he was swished out of the emporium and into a very mulifaceted landscape of shimmering lights and jarring sounds  ~ of hooters and horns and rattles and  clatters Burnt reappraised the situation and realised that
he was being swallowed head first, and (understandably) reeled faint – like due to the presenting situation. “Think fast – for crisps sake- think fast !”
He reached inside his black silk waistcoat and extracted a small pinch of an aromatic rhizome. He released it and it rose to the  surface and spread across his thinning pate.
Aargh! Spat  the liquorophagus – and emptied the vile tasting cabbage sludge, that Burnt had temporarily been morphed into

Burnt hit the ground with a flat splat slap and rolled towards the street drain
The baking sun miraculously dried him ever so quickly and Burnt was transmuted into a long thin liquorice stick which rolled to the gutter’s edge

He lay awhile in the baking sun and as afternoon darkened to a sombre dusk was  spotted by a vagrant, a mendicant with a sullen expression pasted on his face
The ex-Dean put Burnt deep into the front pocket of his torn trousers;
It was hell in there hot stuffy and very unpleasant.
As the tramp stumbled along , Burnt was jostled back and forth, left and  right – very disorientating is this  thought Burnt
This hapless vicar, unemployed and unemployable faultered further up the short incline and then stopped with a lurch, sitting down on the park bench. Further up from the entrance gates
Burnt slipped through a hole in the dean’s pocket and came to rest slap against his inner thigh.
The Dean started scratching –  long strong direct strokes around the groin area The itching wasparticularly  intense around  his perineum ; he clawed vigorously, dislodging Burnt, who  slid down the misanthropist’s ragged trousers to the dusty shaled ground.

What now thought the liquorice stick.
Burnt closed his eyes tight and wrinkled his black forehead in an attempt to resolve his situation.
It looked hopeless!

Darkness slowly spread into the evening; the air grew colder, and the demesne more silent.
The tall,gold-painted gates flanged shut and Burnt lying on the cold dry tarmac was as one.

Then as if …..Burnt was rolled by a gentle cool breeze onto a large chestnut – brown sycamore leaf
and warmed by the curled dry leaf, Burnt fell asleep.