Chocolate

Mmmmmmm.

To be honest, I overdosed on this stuff as a child. Every summer holiday we would drive down to southern Germany to visit my grandparents. Every friend of my mum's, every elderly relative, they would all give me and my sisters each a bar of Milka chocolate. We would hoard them, torn between eating them and keeping them to rub in each others' faces when the others' supplies ran low. Sometimes, if we were very, very lucky, we'd get a giant bar. I had a special drawer in the desk in my bedroom, dedicated to chocolate bars. I'd take a square a night, an illicit thrill to go with reading Tolkien under the duvet by torchlight, and listening to the 11.30 Radio 4 comedy on my tranny. My supply would usually last well into the school year, but my sister always managed to eke hers out for even longer.

So the purple wrapper still means 'chocolate' to me. Even after ten years in Brussels, the capital of chocolate, I'd rather have a bar of Alpenmilch than a box of Pierre Marcolini's finest.

Details: Nikon D70, 105mm macro, f/22, 1/2s, ISO 200. 7 September 2006.