The Enid Blyton Dream

Saturday, 9 Oct 2010

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Woke up late. As usual. An Indian Summer day. The perfect kind. You really value a hot day at the end of summer. It feels like its going to be the last time you’ll ever be warm again.

Faced up to the monumental decision of what I should eat for breakfast.

Poached eggs on toast with cut and lightly seasoned on-the-vine-tomatoes?

Or an eclair with whipped cream topped with real strawberry jam?

Tough call.

Plumped for the eclair and a cup of tea.

It was delicious.

I don’t know why I never venture away before from the usual chocolate ones. They pale in comparison.

Leo convinced me not to go cycling again, and instead come to mile end park where he and the Godfrey clan were loafing about.

So off I went ‘lashings’ of alcoholic ginger beer (Crabbies) in hand, to laze about on the grass, past a bridge, under a canal.

What with all the Godfreys, the eclairs + cream + strawberry jam + ginger beer, for a brief sunny spell, I was living the Enid Blyton dream.

Now if only I had a chair that could fly.

A great article on the effect good or bad, Enid Blyton had on the postcolonial generation…

Notes from a small island – Amy Rosenberg

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