18th September 2021

Today, I describe one of those sweet pleasures we tent to ignore, forget, set side, cept for the very moment they happen.

Rising from a warm cozy bed on a slightly frosty morning when the cold hits immediately in a shudder that last exactly as long as it takes to get to safe warmth of a preheated bathroom. Quickly, very quickly retreating to the pit we miss most abundantly and with great relief pulling beautifully heavy, and still warm to the touch covers, back over your still semi-comatose form. Feeling that heat slowly burrow back into your veins, creeping slowly along goose bump bearing limbs to reach fingertips and toes, digits drawn inwards as far as they possibly can be from the threatening freeze.

Yes, you know you must eventually emerge, but for that glorious moment you are safe, swallowed almost womb like back into the sanctity of childhood bliss. A small precious moment, repeatable on any given day weather permitting, and the right amount of naturally reoccurring lackadaisicalness being allowed to rise Kraken like from the depths.

A spoon or two of sugar added quite openly to my morning cups of coffee, not for taste, but to taste! Unnecessary luxury added just for momentarily bestial pleasure, like the second knob of well salted butter on a double toasted piece of wholemeal crust.  Appeasing the body’s physical needs, whilst feeding the enclosed but often ignored souls demands for pointless but relished luxury.

When I was unwell recently the question of what foodstuff sounded suitable to break my fast arose, what products sat awaiting upon my cupboard shelves to turn jittering stomach muscles into a safe platform for rising fortune? My memory shouted Farax, a finely powdered British rice flower cereal, prepared with hot milk and served with oodles of sugar. Nearest easy adult orientated substitute, breakfast oatmeal, prepared in a similar way, but never, never, with that inherent haunting childhood satiation of the original, fresh prepared from the box with the never ending love and care of  nanny.

Miniscule joys, creating experiences capable of transporting us beyond momentary vulnerability to blessed asylum.

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