A 'Very Middle Class Weekend'

As has already been pointed out to me, I have enjoyed a 'very middle class weekend’. There is no denying that wandering around a Swedish design shop and Bridgewater pottery after eating brunch at Giraffe is enough to make me a class traitor in some quarters. In my defence, I can only point out that the Swedish store had Moomin tableware and the blueberry and banana pancake stacks at Giraffe were heavenly. There is no reason why an Essex barrow boy cannot appreciate style or a dash of pomegranate juice in his smoothie.

Whether middle class or not, my weekends have certainly become incredible periods of delight over recent weeks. Just when I think each passing one cannot be surpassed, it is. Whilst I can recount to myself all the little details of joy – from thirty seconds of total surprise to curling up on the sofa to watch The Satan Pit – I doubt logging all the individual stabs of pleasure I have felt during the last two days would even begin to capture the totality of what I am experiencing. I feel lucky. I feel blessed.

I have come to understand that bliss can be as difficult to comprehend as the Black Dog. There is an element of bewildering shock when it is encountered, like the first listen to one of the joy-filled Morrisey tracks on You Are The Quarry. It is so unexpected it is deliciously disorientating. However, now that it is here, I do not want it fade or leave - even if it does mean my arms are sore through the constant pinching.