It is the time of year when my mind, or what remains of it, turns to Marks & Spencer biscuit selection packs. Let us speak briefly of them.
(i) Have you seen the Scottie dog shortbread tin (I can't find online, but they had it in St Pancras)? Because, yes, please.
(ii) The "MILK MILK MILK" selection pack I bought in a froth of decadence is actually totally over the top. In my childhood memories, the M&S selection pack of biscuits was a rare and unspeakably exciting thing. All year round our cupboard held no more than a packet of McVities Dark Chocolate Digestives (a wholly superior biscuit, granted, but not a frivolous one), but occasionally, on very special occasions, my mother would buy an M&S selection pack, in its cheery red wrapper. Of course this was the normal selection box - a couple of gypsy creams, some boring oaty things, a bourbon, blah blah blah some other biscuits, PLUS the glittering prize that was the gold wrapped Orange Sundae. You got two per packet and I lived for the Orange Sundae, I tell you. As an over-indulged functionally only child for the relevant period, I got both Orange Sundaes and it was like being a magical princess for a day.
You still get your two Orange Sundaes in the MILK MILK MILK packet, but your palette is jaded and furry with heavily coated chocolate treats. You no longer treat it as the precious gem it is. On top of that, no one else in this house even likes any of the biscuits in the MILK MILK MILK so I am having to eat all of them, whereas I know they would be mad for the stodgy bourbons and custard creams. There is a lesson here for me: more is not necessarily better (except with horses and choux pastry and cashmere and MONEY).
Enough biscuits (yes, that is the problem, more than enough biscuits).
Advent trinket of the day:
I suppose this was inevitable. First the owl, then the moustache.
Who are A and S and do they know about the rising damp next door? I bet that would cast a pall over their graffiti ardor.
In other news, the grim arrival of the school reports, just before Christmas, in a joyless fashion. I am going to have to summon the Père Fouettard back to take one child in a sack to Spain (suffice to say, that spontaneous breakfast is no longer a mystery). I feel quite resentful at the ridiculous schedule of primary school reports (5 a year! Percentage marks in all subjects and comparison against the class average!), angry at myself for caring, frustrated at child, etc etc, a maelstrom of positive seasonal emotions. Christ, when do we all start drinking sherry in our pyjamas in front of the telly in the morning? (never, at this rate, I will spontaneously combust on Christmas Eve in a cloud of burning martyr). Whenever I start thinking I'm a cool, laidback parent, my child gets a dodgy school report, and I reveal myself to be the uptight, authority-enthralled, psycho-rigid swot I truly am. Sigh.
That is all I have. I think I might have peaked on festive feelings and it might be downhill from here. My friend Nathalie has got me a nail brush though, maybe that will perk me up.
How is your Wednesday? What is your view on biscuit selections?