What I want in my life is a full and varied biscuit tin. That is happiness.
Now, I don't want you thinking I'm getting all metaphorical and "life is like a box of chocolates" on you. I mean real biscuits: shortbread, Nice, chocolate hobnobs, those coconut ones my grandparents get, and all nestled together in a tin with a picture of a cat or duck or Scottish landscape.
And in this oaty, buttery, melt-in-your-mouth ambition, I might make my own. Mum used to make magical biscuit. I can barely remember the taste however they looked crunchy but were actually a bit chewy, and when you snapped them in half, they were hollow like a cave full of stalegmites. If anyone has a recipe for something similar please let me know. Ours has been lost to time.
Of course I'll take the metaphor as well...if life was a biscuit tin and all that, but I just want something to dunk in my tea basically. Heaven.
I don't know about you but biscuits are so full of nostalgia. They remind me of school snack time, with a cup of orange juice; of home baking; of Sunday afternoons at my grandparents' houses.
And the tin! That's important. Right now, if I have biscuits they come straight from the packet and I have one type. A tin means they are treasure, an event, a choice.
What dies all this say about me? Is a girl whose only concrete dream is to have a selection of biscuits a premature geriatric? Too comfy? I ambitious? You know what?- I don't even care!
Of course this is not my only dream. One day I'll make something beautiful; I'll dance naked in the rain; I will live in another country; I will feel tiny in a big world; I will be outside a lot; I will dance and make stories always; I will discover what I want to do with my life.
See. Mainly cloudy ideas, but I can achieve the biscuits right now. They are in the shop.
I suppose I could dance naked next time it rains but it's not the same in London. I'm imagining a forest and no audience. I don't want to be arrested.
Ok, I'm hungry now. Someone bring me a Bourbon.
