Hot cross buns

This week, I treated myself to some hot cross buns. If you can’t treat yourself during lockdown, when can you! I like them toasted with a generous swathe of butter oozing through them.

As I cut into the first one, I was hit with the beautiful smell of sweet, cinnamon stickiness and for just a moment it transported me completely to another place and time.

It wasn’t just the hot cross buns that I could smell, it was also the smell of wooden furniture and polish. 

I could feel the sunshine streaming through the open French doors. 

I could hear the low hum of passing boats, along with the gentle wash of the river and grumpy quack of ducks. I could hear a clang of slack sailing ropes hitting the masts of moored boats in the breeze.

On top of all these background noises, I could hear Terry Wogan on the radio and the stirring of a teaspoon in cup and the sound of butter being spread on a hot cross bun.

For just a moment, I was transported to back to my Gran’s house, by the river. It was just a moment, but it was wonderful.