Sunday 20 April 2014

Surviving Lent - Or Was It Too Easy?

As a storm splashes onto the lawn and dampens all hopes of gaining a daily dose of vitamin D outside, I, on the other hand, couldn't care less about the extreme lack of sunshine which has so far failed to make an uplifting appearance on this Easter Sunday. Sure, I may have almost dropped my boiling hot bowl of porridge onto the kittens' heads earlier due to being unable to see anything in the oh-so-dim light (unfortunately one of the perils of being blessed with the eye condition myopia, which I like to believe is most associated with intellectuals and glamourous bookworms), but I'm generally in a soft-as-a-marshmallow mood.

In case you are curious as to why I'm comparing my genial temperament to a squidgy, vanilla-flavoured gelatine sweet, it needn't take the likes of a Nobel Prize-winning genius to figure out the reason behind my curved smile: after six weeks of self-restraining, self-inflicting and self-destructing agony (in other words, you're piling the whole planet and perhaps a few galaxies which is bound to create an advanced form of backache), Lent is finally over. Gone are the days of walking down the confectionary aisle at the supermarket and sighing with deep sadness at being forced against your own will to give up a beloved, hip-expanding (unless celery sticks are included as one of your must-have vices) treat - for the next ten months and a half, the world is literally your oyster! If I'm being told that putting my hand into a bag of wine gums will not leave a permanent mark on my conscience, there is no reason for which a My Sweet 16-inspired celebration shouldn't go ahead; for all that I care, being granted access to the sweet jar is the loveliest news which my treat-obsessed self is likely to ever hear!

But before we finish gobbling down our sticky-as-glue hot cross buns and quickly slip into something less embarrassing than your secretly worn Aristocats pyjamas (there goes my aim to keep this now well-known fact on the quiet), I'm starting to wonder whether I even ought to be celebrating the arrival of Easter - and obviously the end of the frightful six weeks recognized as nerve-destroying Lent - because, whether I wish to embrace the truth or not, I might have not followed my original intentions as I had previously hoped before Ash Wednesday rolled around over a month ago. 

Once again embracing my self-obsessed roots, I couldn't bear the thought of giving up richer-than-an-heiress dark chocolate - if I hadn't caught wind of a recent survey which praised the health benefits of consuming cocoa in its less sweet form (always the one to discover a half-acceptable excuse), perhaps I would have been getting my first taste of chocolate in six weeks today - so I quickly decided to toss all gelatine-based sweets and milk chocolate which, unlike a mere year ago, I rarely consume. Although Lent often revolves around abstaining from the treats which captivate your attention as equally as the intriguing mystery surrounding Twin Peaks, I chose to follow my self-created beliefs that even a delicacy which only passes through my lips once every blue moon still counts as acceptable, which made the process of surviving Lent easier than I could have hoped. Or so it seemed to be as easy as cake for the first few days until a Freddo landed on my lap, or I added it to the trolley whilst my mum did the shopping at the supermarket. 

On the off-chance that you aren't particularly familiar with British confectionary, I will not only amaze you with my outstanding knowledge of Asda's most popular brands but leave you a desire which will lead to the exciting path of what I classify as the world's greatest sweets producer: from cola bottles (without the slightest hint of coke) to strawberry bonbons, my native country sells whatever could be the culprit of rotting your teeth. Luckily, my mum and dad made keeping my teeth in a sparkling condition their MI5-style mission from a young age, due to getting filings from consuming too many sweets - and inevitably failing to maintain a healthy cleaning schedule - so I've never had any problems with my dental care which, after having re-occurring nightmares from the classic 80s horror musical Little Shops of Horrors, is a major relief. 

Anyway, Freddo is a small milk chocolate bar which is produced by the British confectionary brand, Cadbury's, and it is a chocolate which I fondly remember eating as a young child; once upon a time at a primary school in Cornwall, I used to have play dates with a boy called Harry (who, if my memory has any recollections, didn't share a resemblance to the partying prince) after school. His mum would often offer me a Freddo bar whilst sitting in the car on the way home, which is how I have come to associate the chocolate bar within my old friend. Although the sugary, not particularly chocolatey flavour doesn't remind me of Cornish pasties, rainy weather or indeed the higher-than-Mount-Kilimanjaro water bills, each bite of a Freddo brings me back to my childhood, which I occasionally crave to revisit. 

But, as you have probably already worked out, a Freddo is milk chocolate, so within a couple of days after making a pact to steer clear of sweets and of course milk chocolate, I broke my promise after giving into a short-lived moment of temptation. And, unlike how plenty of people would have reacted, I hardly cared about my red-handed act, of which I would have been found guilty if I was ever tried in a criminal (and Lent-themed) court. As my guilt-escaping self embarks on the journey of unleashing another excuse upon yourself, I'm hopeful that the then-upcoming move to a village over one hundred miles away from my previous residence might be deemed as an acceptable reason for which breaking my promise to give up milk chocolate barely made a dent on my conscience, especially because the matter of indulging on a tiny-as-Benny-the-Hissy-Kitty bar of chocolate was of a lower priority in comparison to packing my possessions and preparing for the most stressful day of the year. 

Apart from keeping my copy of The Vampire Diaries Season 2 left out until the last possible minute, I was swept into a wave of madness which was purer than my congested complexion, which therefore highlighted a massive problem in relation to keeping my end of the deal with Lent. I wouldn't be surprised if a majority of people tried their hardest to resist having a takeaway during this six week period because, despite being proclaimed as one of the many unhealthy foods to ever be consumed on this planet, plenty of us always enjoy a meal which doesn't involve lifting a finger nor switching the oven on, but I feel like a water balloon which is struggling to deflate due to having more than my fair share of takeaways in recent weeks. 

From crispy chicken at KFC (and McDonald's, which was the highlight of my ever-busy day yesterday) to soggy chips from the local madman's fish and chips shops, the list of my indulgences continue to rise at an astounding rate. even though I didn't make the slightest mention of deep-fried french fries or battered fish whilst composing my list of banned treats before the beginning of Lent took place last month. And, to add to my issues, I felt compelled to steal one of my little brother's wine gums which, unless you are unfamiliar with the ingredients used to create the fruity and undeniably irresistible treats, contain gelatine and spot-creating sugar! Perhaps it ought to be no massive wonder why my face has a tendency to flare the colour of a can of Italian tomatoes if my sweet-devouring habit plays a role in causing more blemish-related misery; it truly saddens me that a second of pure pleasure quickly transforms into an hour dedicated to absolute agony over the condition of my face and, as you would expect, breaking my promise to fulfill my end of the deal for Lent.

Now that I have aired the truth over my sweet-as-pie binges (a dessert of which has not been served since Lent began, though a school-sized dish of apple crumble lasted almost the whole of this week), the uplifting happiness which was the reason behind my smile has been dented if not a bit by my recent admission. On Easter Sunday last year, getting through six weeks of torture and declining desserts which featured chocolate was literally the one thing which stirred a hint of happiness within me two days after my cat Tom passed away, and as I come to terms with the fact that I failed my mission to stay on the straight and narrow within days of Lent commencing, my experience with guilt becomes more and more profound because I knew that I was capable of making it out to the other side like I did last year.

Yet I realize that putting all of this chocolate-riddled guilt (pardon the pun, that chocolate Lindt Bunny is all but preying on my mind) may not be warranted after all because, despite my failure in resisting a bar as cheaply flavoured as my childhood favourite Freddo, I have surpassed my expectations in things much more important than going cold turkey from the confectionary aisle in the local shop. During this past six week period, I achieved one of my wildest, most heartfelt dreams by moving to a place which truly makes my heart sing with pride and elation, whilst somehow keeping my head screwed on as I prepared for the most stressful move which I will probably ever witness and be a part of. I also mastered the art of letting go of past habits and living for the moment, a feat which I once feared would be impossible to hone as a fine skill, along with adjusting to a startlingly new way of life - even three weeks after moving in, I still can't believe my ears when I hear birds tweeting joyfully in the morning - and being happy.

Suddenly, my bad-natured deeds relating to stuffing myself with one too many marshmallow biscuits (the ones which my deceased cat Tom used to devour happily) no longer seem as important nor terribly horrendous because I have grown as a person - though sadly not in height, as I continue to hope - within the space of six long, yet fulfilling weeks. Today will be a day of reflection as I take a look back to the person I used to be a mere year ago - a girl whose heart had never felt more broken and would weep at the slightest mention of her beloved cat, sparing no thought for Easter at all - and then I will focus my attention on the upcoming Easter Dinner which, like Christmas Lunch, always guarantees an ecstatic round of applause and especially crunchy pork crackling.

Although a bar of dark chocolate (70% cocoa solids, mind you) was relished with delight yesterday evening, I will savour the flavour - and indeed meaning - of my Easter egg later today because it represents a message of hope like I've never known it before. Happy Easter and, in case you are down in the dumps over breaking your Lent-related promises, remember that you are not the only one - I'm sure that there are many others who are trying to keep a straight face today!

Let the chocolate madness begin!

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