Old enough to know better

On walking back from lunch on Thursday I felt like chocolate. There is a vending machine on the 4th floor at work and a couple of 7-11 convenience stores on the way but I was passing the supermarket so I ducked in to hit my coco-fix. As far as bang for my buck went, biscuits seemed the way to go. I could get 20 Chocolate Digestives, 16 Tim Tams or a dozen Mallowpuffs for the price of a block of Dairy Milk.

I was tossing up between Chocolate Fingers and a roll of Hob Nobs when I spied a packet of Jaffa Cakes. This was like a sighting of Tom Cruise at a Psychiatry conference - they were the last thing I expected to find in a place I hadn't anticipated. I’d just never seen them in Australia before. Come to think of it I don’t recall them on sale in New Zealand either. Lets just say that I can’t remember seeing a packet of Jaffa Cakes since coming south of the equator. Not that I ever had a great affinity for JCs in England but as I’d been deprived of them since coming Down Under I was suddenly mad for them. Like when tourists go half way across the world only to discover they don’t like the food and end up eating at Burger King Bangkok.

Having purchased the biscuits (I know name might indicate that they are more cake than biscuit but I think we have to agree that they seem more at home as part of the Biscuit genus) I swiftly ate a third of the packet on the walk back to the office and then the rest disappeared before the day was out. I didn’t have to share them, I didn’t need a special occasion and no one warned me that I might spoil my appetite. I’m married, have two degrees and work full time in a job that I don’t enjoy but somehow gorging myself on tiny choc-orange treats makes me feel like an adult.


NOTE – I left this post half finished and when I came back I found the following typed at the bottom of the page:

I like to snoozle, snoozle. I like to snoozle, snoozle. I like to snoozle , snoozle. I am the snoozle Roozel.

I tell you, it’s like being married to a Fraggle.