It's Easter and, just like Jesus, I have been resurrected this weekend. In blogging terms, of course, not, like, as the saviour of mankind. Although I never say never.
Two and a half weeks may be my longest period of non-blogging since Miss Jones blogging records began. That includes holidays. And I haven't even been on holiday this time. Although, as anyone who lives there will tell you, every day in south-east London is like a holiday. I have no good excuses for not posting, apart from mild busy-ness and a fear of repetition. This never stopped Barbara Cartland from a prodigious work rate though, so really, buck up, Miss Jones.
Let's focus on some positives. This year, I have three Easter eggs to eat, and I didn't even have to buy any of them for myself.
This is not one of them:
It's not strictly an egg, of course. It's a Baby Basil Hollow White Chocolate Duck. Is Basil the name of the duck or an adventurous addition to the flavouring? I don't know, the modern world baffles me.
Anyway, BBHWCD – as all his crazy pals in the confectionery packing depot probably nickname him – had been jilted by the tills at London Bridge Marks & Spencer, with an affliction so severe you could see straight into his pretty, empty little head. Who knows what cruel conspiracy of fate was responsible?
Perhaps he simply had a congenital physical imperfection, and that's what led to his last-minute spurning – we've all been there. Perhaps he was an innocent bystander caught up in a skirmish over the last packet of Cranberry & Orange Hot Cross Buns. Or perhaps someone in the queue loved him a bit too much, squeezed him a little too hard, until a hot clammy digit found its way right through his skull. Again, we've all been there.
We may never know.
This is a sombre note to end on, but I feel Easter should be a time of reflection. Reflection and consumption. I could never bring myself to eat BBHWCD, though. White chocolate is disgusting.