When I was newly on the path to matrescence, and every day was like a crawl to the peak of an oxygen-deprived mountain, I used to keep a giant bar of Dairy Milk (back then I liked it) in the car. I would sneak out, after first and second breakfast, lunch, dinner, bedtime, and bite chunks out of it, leaving teeth marks of guilty, desperate, pleasure.
Then one day summer really did come to England and it all melted. There is no despair greater, relatively speaking, than finding an expected treat quite gone.
