The day the gingersnap lost it's snap

That was the defining moment. When I realised I didn’t feel truly myself because a) I didn’t look like me (a 2 ½ stone weight gain can do that to you) and b) events of the past few years had coloured me. So I needed a good ‘wash’ and a health kick. I started five weeks ago and have lost half a stone. (More of the same and I’ll be there somewhere).

To celebrate this small ‘milestone’ I decided to visit my No 1 watering hole, Starbucks, and instead of the chamomile tea I had feasted on in recent weeks I’d treat myself. Go mad. Skinny cappuccino. Not crazy – I wasn’t thinking in terms of venti, or even grande – no, a tall one would do. More than modest yet less than greedy pants. And I wouldn’t splash out and have a cantucci biscuit. No, I’d read that a packet of two ginger snaps were positively saintly in comparison to the obscenely calorie-laden rocky roads and chocolate brownies of this establishment (can any cake really have that many calories?).

So two days ago my eight year old and I ventured into our nearest and dearest Starbucks. I’d been waiting for this moment for – ooh, at least a week. I lovingly paid for the delights, sat at a nearby table and passed my daughter her rocky road (yes, really) and small bottle of OJ. I placed my cup and plate in front of myself adoringly. My hand reached out and picked up the longed-for ginger snap. Um. Gorgeous I thought, as I took my first mouthful. I placed it back on it's plate and savoured every crumb of that first bite.

My daughter reached for her juice and due to our constant chattering, taking her eye off the ball (or bottle, if you see what I mean) the bottle flew over, throwing its contents all over the table, all over my gorgeous biscuits, and all over the person sitting opposite – yes, that would be me. My hair, face and clothes were well splashed but it was the gingersnaps that had taken the worst of it. They were swimming, positively drowning in fact. Desperately I grabbed one and, lifting it hopefully, was about to take a quick nibble (before it really did sink) when – plop! – it fell and landed in my cappuccino. Result? Not only did I not now have a biscuit, my lovely milky cappuccino had turned sour when introduced to the OJ. The taste was definitely not for the faint hearted.

When we exited five minutes later, little one had a self-satisfied smile on her face owing to the rocky road delicacy and a few drops of OJ. Me? Well, I was dripping juice and soggy biscuit crumbs. Not a good look. The moral of the tale? I guess I shouldn't have felt smug when I'd only just reached first base. I might just get bitten on the bum. I legged it home quickly, as smelling like Jasper’s best friend, I wasn’t going to take any risks.