Five things I'm quitting in my fortieth year

Quitters do win sometimes!

Photo by Isabella Fischer on Unsplash

Hello Team CCC! Happy Friday! I’m about to celebrate my birthday. I think birthdays that end in a nine have a liminal, transitory feel. I’ve been reflecting on what I’d like to leave behind before the (arbitrarily significant) birthday with a zero on the end, and I came up with a list.

In other news - the Persephone festival is next month! I’m so excited about seeing some of you in Bath - and you can get tickets for You’re Booked Live here. I’ll be sharing some very exciting brand new book news with you next week. If you’d like a signed copy of Limelight, you can get it from The Margate Bookshop here - they deliver across the UK, and if you’d like a personalised dedication, request it on their contact form and I’ll hook you up.

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Now, here’s what I’m going to be ditching as soon as I’ve blown out my candles…

Little Biscuits

If one is in Europe – and I’ve noticed this happening more and more in the UK – sometimes, one is lucky enough to be presented with a little Speculoos style cookie with one’s tea or coffee. It’s perched on the saucer, invitingly – a brief, reassuring suggestion that in the universe of the café, an inch and a half of measured, shrink wrapped frivolity is obligatory. Practically medicinal. ‘Oooh,’ you say, when you see it. ‘Oooh! A little biscuit!’ It is the work of a moment to tear into that little biscuit. It’s ground into your back molars before you can actually say ‘’Scuse me, so sorry, are you sure this is decaf?’

I like the concept of the little biscuits very much. But I’m not wild about the taste. They’re fine! They’re innocuous! (They’re a very different proposition when they’re ground up into a delicious Lotus Biscoff spread, but that’s beside the point.) But they don’t make me giddy. I do not pine for them. If `I was offered my choice of the world’s treats, I would not say ‘Can I have one of those little biscuits that comes on the side of a hot drink?’ So – me and the little biscuits are done. And every time I refuse a little biscuit, I’m refusing to engage with things I just don’t mind. Things that I’m sort of OK with. I am holding out for life’s Lindor Balls. (And your Lindor Ball might just be a little biscuit! IT’S A METAPHOR.) If it’s not a hell yeah, it’s a no. I want more space and time for magic and less time surreptitiously prodding the back of my mouth with a fork.