I woke up this morning plagued by three thoughts.
The first was is it possible to regain 5 stone in a week?
The second was a question as to whether that brownie yesterday was legally allowed to taste that good?
The third was why is a hospital called a hospital?
All equally perplexing.
The last one came as a result of a conversation held by the kids in the back of my Ford S Max last night. We drove past the sign for the local hospital and Owen remarked it was unusual for us to have not frequented A&E yet. I cursed inwardly, knowing my boy had just condemned us for some point this vacation.
He then brought up the question of why is a hospital called a hospital and as per usual I felt like an uneducated fool, as I had no idea.
Luckily, Molly, who at age 8, knows pretty much everything, stepped into the limelight and answered for me.
“Obviously” she remarked, “it is because you need to pittle a lot before you get diagnosed with diabetes, so it is a hos, short for house, pittle – see.”
Owen, also aged 8, accepted this explanation perfectly and the pair of them spent a happy ten minutes discussing pittle. Libby-Sue slept on, she would later be disappointed to have missed such a juicy conversation.
It was only this morning that my thoughts returned to the question and I double checked Molly’s theory with the God of all knowledge – Google.
After scrolling three pages and not finding the answer, I deduced Google a dunce and decided to go with Molly’s answer.
The rest of the questions?
Well, my query as to whether you can gain 5 stone in a week in Cornwall is yet to be answered, but I am giving it my best shot…
And sweet jesus, that brownie…
Right, imagine the best sex you ever had. So for those of my age and older try to stretch back to when you were young and still fancied it in positions other than missionary.
Ok, you got the memory?
Right remember the moment of climax?
Times that by a billion and you have yesterdays brownie, as purchased from the Farm shop at Trevone Bay. I saw it in the shop and managed to resist it. Like most things exceptional, it looked quite ordinary. My son however, saw its hidden potential and immediately chose it as his treat.
He took a bite, and grimaced, it was not his fault, he is merely too young for such decadence. One day, one day he will understand.
“Its too rich,” he complained, “you have it Mum….”
Months of a Paleo diet flashed before my eyes as he placed the brownie on my palm. Whilst it looked ordinary, it smelt like luxury, it reeked of desire. It wanted me to hold it, caress it, taste its glory.
I tried, I honestly tried to hold back, but surely a nimble wouldn’t hurt. To throw it away was wasteful, a poor show in front of the kids.
So I did it, I raised it to my lips and took a bite, then felt my insides explode.
I couldn’t stop, I took more and more until suddenly my hand was empty and I threw my body back and moaned.
Damn that was a good brownie.
I still can’t decide if it should be illegal.
If you have the good sense to visit Trevella Park in Crantock, where this Brownie can be found close by, I advise you buy them in the dozen and sit back and enjoy the effects….