Wednesday, 6 November 2013

Sticky fingers

Christmas is coming, even in France.

Things go more slowly where I live, in SW France.  But, (shock, horror) LeClerc already has all the chocs you could ever want and lots that you probably would rather not have, sitting on shelves specially allocated for 'seasonal goods'.  Gone are the inflatable boats, the luminous bikinis and the swing-balls, replaced by pyramids of chocolate Santas, boxes of advent calendars to suit all pockets and handmade chocolates at extortionate prices.

They begin the campaign for over indulgence and excess where there is the least resistance.  My particular favourite lies in wait: orange peel in dark chocolate.

I just get a few other things so I don't have to dash around at the last minute, in a couple of months' time.  Into the trap I fall. My trolley is laden, but not with the things I came in for.  Too late to go back, I go home to a house full of chocolate-detecting aficionados. 

There are limited new hiding places.  Especially from myself.

I long for the future, when, never getting properly dressed or brushing my hair, spending even more of my time writing books and forgetting about the real world for days on end, I won't be able to remember where I've stashed my wicked treats.  Then, I shall come upon a Milka Daim amongst the bag of summer hats I never wear or a slab of nougat in the lining of an old coat.  How marvellous it will be to discover chocolate I didn't know I had!   

In the meantime, I shall exercise my willpower and watch, as my children and husband tuck in.  After all I haven't told them about my secret stash.  Ho! Ho! Ho!