I’m not a talker. Well, I am. Just not much about me personally. And I should talk more about me. It unearths things.
For a podcast last month I was asked about my favourite biscuit. It’s Bourbon Biscuits. I like Bourbon Biscuits, mostly, for the same reason Christopher Hitchens liked Jonnie Walker Black Whiskey. ‘Easy to get. Not too expensive. Decent. Or so I thought.
You see, I came out of the podcast with a new realisation about Bourbon Biscuits. I remembered something.
In my early teens, things were tricky at home. Anger. Controlling behaviour. Abuse. And, by talking about my love of Bourbon Biscuits I remembered how, shorty after leaving home, I ate a whole packet. But I didn’t just bite them. I split them open and, one-by-one, scraped the chocolaty goo off with my teeth. I remember that I was teary at the time. Feeling a bit sick. But happy. Because four biscuits was the limit at ‘home’. And splitting them was, I was told, wrong.
Freedom to be me is such a gift. I wonder what I’ll do next? Custard Creams maybe. If I’m feeling particularly adventurous.
I’m not a talker. Well, I am. Just not much about me personally. And I should talk more about me. It unearths things.