On the phone to me this morning, Inge de Bruin was very doubtful of my claim that I still love cooking despite the fact that I don't do much of it anymore.
"You don't have to be doing something all the time to love it!" I said. "There's one thing I don't get to do anymore that I know I would still like very much to do, given the opportunity."
Anyway, I don't need to tell you any more of that conversation except to assure you that none of it was edifying.
What it did remind me of was the fact that I'd been round at k.'s and d.'s a few days ago, enjoying a few drinks with them on their front verandah - as per. And, you know, what with the in vino veritas blah blah (and how) the conversation had drifted into some rather...ahem...frank territory. However, before things got too uncomfortable, d. had hit upon the perfect metaphor:
"The thing about chocolate," he said, "is that when you can't have any, all you really, really want is chocolate."
And how right he was. Of course, the usual hilarity ensued involving unnecessary references to Mars Bars and the like. d. having initiated the whole train of thought had drifted off into his own little reverie while k. and I plundered on, mining this little seam of gold for all it was worth.
Suddenly d. jumped back into the fray with this comment: "But I never did like Snack. What put me off Snack was always having to share it with my sister."
This had a pretty much instantly sobering effect on k. and I.
"Wait a minute, wait a minute." k said. "You are actually talking about chocolate now, aren't you?"
A while later I decided it was time to take my leave. k. and d. were both yawning as I staggered off to my car. k. mentioned she was keen to get into bed and get some sleep.
"Well, rug up tight - I think d. plans to force feed you a Turkish Delight!"