Churros and Chocolate Sunday Mornings

My weekends lately have become a string of transcendent moments connected by a curve of happiness that keeps on heading upwards. The last three days have been no different. Not even an impressive accident, the disappointment of missing out on nettle tasting or the poor way they now display the Blue Whale at the Natural History Museum could take the shine off my weekend.

It would be boring to read why drinking thick Spanish hot chocolate and eating churros was such a peak experience for me. I am also not sure anyone would want to know why walking in the rain in South Kensington, exploring German kitchenware shops and me cooking a roast dinner on Sunday night currently fills me with such soppiness that I am more than a little irritating.

Anyone who does not understand what is soul-lifting about enjoying a cream tea in the kitchen garden at Kenwood House with a blue Bank Holiday sky above them obviously shares too much genetic material with Oscar the Grouch. However, I am not going to infuriate everyone by publicly parading all of my reasons to be cheerful. I know anything I write about them will sound entirely self-satisfied and reek of contentment.

After certain experiences, I find it hard to trust in happiness. I always expect any brief bursts of delight to be punctuated by a hard fist strike to the face. However, right now I am already looking forward to more churros and chocolate Sunday mornings, more strolling in the rain, more lazy Saturday nights watching Walk The Line and even more laughter and smiles.