Yesterday evening, whilst picking raspberries and blackcurrants at the allotment, I was thinking about small luxuries.
One of the things I appreciate most about the summer, these days, is the ability to eat raspberries by the handful. I’ve always loved raspberries — we had them in the garden when I was a kid — and for years I could get only the tiny, expensive, and often tasteless punnets that the supermarkets sell. Now there are twenty canes of them in the allotment (ten summer, ten autumn), and more raspberries than I can eat from June till September. A glorious luxury, with the only outlay (I think we’ve long since earnt back the £20 spent on the canes four years ago) the time it takes me to pick them, which is a pleasure in itself.
When I was cycle touring, eighteen months ago, my self-indulgence was that after the sun went down, I would light up the stove again to make a mug of tea, then crawl into my sleeping bag and lie there snugly in my tent with tea, a couple of chocolate biscuits, and an episode of Stargate (I have a fondness for dodgy SF TV) on the netbook. I remember thinking at the time that the only thing that could make the experience better would have been the ability to knit at the same time (the tent, sadly, was too small to sit up in, and knitting whilst lying on my stomach gave me cramp in my hands).
Since I’ve been home, one of my favourite small luxuries is to go to the library, then take my lovely new library books across the Blue to Adam’s Café, and read over a plate of chips and beans with a coffee. Costs around £3, feels fabulous.
It makes me immoderately happy, just to appreciating these little things.