Like a box of Quality Street, my week has been very mixed. From the smooth ride of the Caramel Swirl, to the crushing disappointment when you bite into the pastie-shaped Purple One and get a mouthful of hazelnut, and not the meat and vegetable treat such a shape promises. I've chomped down on moments of Milk Choc Block toughness, floated through Strawberry Cream highs, and flicked the 'Vs' to the Toffee Finger. And as the hands whizz steadily towards five o'clock, I feel my fingertips flit against the wrapper of a Vanilla Fudge weekend. I've explored the whole chocolatey gamut, except the Toffee Penny - too much like hard work.
The focus though; the piece de la resistance; the one that has the gluttons dribbling always has been and always will be that one-hundred-and-eighty-degreed, shimmering, nutty, Green Triangle. It is, unquestionably, the centre piece. My claim is supported by the fact that you can now find them individually offered in-between the Hubba-Bubba and the Chuppa-Chups on any good newsagent counter. The newsagents have spoken. I am correct.
And that is why Quality Street trump Roses and make Miniature Heores and Celebrations look like milky fools. The centre piece. Everything needs one...
New York has the Empire State Building. Manchester United have Wayne Rooney. Quality Street has the Green Triangle.
Cities, teams, countries, people, festivals, families. There is always a focal point. And the same is true of rooms. Which is why I need a coffee table.
It's easy in most rooms. What draws your attention in the bedroom? Obvious. The kitchen? Cooker. Study? Computer or bookcase. The bathroom is spoilt for choice - if anything, it's a bit crowded and we need to invent another type of room to spread it out a bit. The living room though is more of quandry. Some claim that the TV should draw the gaze. Those that have shunned idiotboxes might declare that a roaring fire is the mainstay of any good lounge. It could even be your favourite rocking chair? It's a right pickle. Milk Choc Block.
Personally, I think a coffee table should be the emotional centre of a proper lounge. Bang in the middle. Scattered with newspapers, coffee rings, yesterday's Ribena glass and a few Twiglet crumbs you can use to distract yourslef in front of Channel 4's 'Noel Edmonds' Week'... The Purple One. So moving into my new place as I have (see last blog post for more grumbling nonsense), the carpety void where the coffee table should be has left me perplexed. I keep dropping mugs, suspending my feet in mid-air, and a cairn of black, white and red all-over newspapers is starting to obscure my morning view of Eamonn Holmes. But being skint, what can you do? Toffee Finger.
I've scoured the charity shops, ignored John Lewis and BHS because forks are about a fiver a go, and held my arms aloft in disbelief that Peterborough has an Ikea distribution centre that doesn't sell direct to the customer, and charges £35 to deliver something 2.1 miles - and can only do it on Tuesday when EVERYONE'S AT WORK! Sleeves rolled up, and frown pronounced, I took a brave leap out of the metaphorical box and did a spell of thinking...
I've just started working with a company in Boston as part of a new project PECT is running in Lincolnshire. These guys dispose of half-a-dozen cable reels a week. (Like massive reels that you get cotton and thread on). About two foot high. Nice round base. Wide even top. Smooth wooden finish. Stable. Flat. Would hold a cup of coffee just lovely... Caramel Swirl.
You've read between the lines. Reduce, reuse, recycle, rest your coffee on a lovely round coffee table. Honestly, it makes King Arthur's effort look a little half-hearted. Strawberry Cream.
Let me paint you a picture...
Sunday afternoon. Four o'clock. Jeff Stelling is keeping me updated on the start of a new football season. The steam is breezeing off my milky coffee as it rest a-top a coaster, and I chuckle contentedly (and rather smugly) to David Mitchell's sarcastic musings in the Observer.
And in amongst the smug snug? The missing piece of the jigsaw; the Higgs Boson of domestic bliss; my reused and re-homed round Green Triangle...
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