The Sugar is Sweeter

Simple pleasures are my favourite pleasures. Complicated pleasures frankly just aren't worth the effort, but simple pleasures are amazing because they're so easily achieved, and although the seratonin imbalance is only a tiny bit levelled with a brief instance of joy, it sure beats the fizzy drinks can build up that complicated pleasures endure during their creation that by the time the big taste question is answered, it blows up in your face.

No. Like cartoonish American policemen, a coffee and doughnut is all it takes these days. I don't think I'd actively gone and bought a doughnut in about five years. Maybe not even before the time when Rachel and I used to buy them before watching VHS tapes of Twin Peaks from the library. I think that was in late 2002. Each VHS had three episodes on it apart from the ones which had the hour-long Season 2 bookends which only had two episodes. I used to watch it first on my own in bed facing the window eating skittles or chicken soup, then on Saturday or Sunday afternoon Rachel would come over and we'd watch them again, and I'd feel slightly cleverer because I'd already seen them but it meant I could be distacted picking the hundreds and thousands off the doughnuts one at a time during the bits where Nadine Hurley thinks she's a teenager again. The doughnut I bought was from Subway, which again, I don't think I've been to in about a year. Subway always enthralls me because nobody questions it. For example, everyone knows that a Greggs a day will kill you, and thingammy with the moustache told us all that eating nothing but McDonald's will also kill you, and even Adam and Eve told us that too much fruit will bring untold trouble. But Subway, they could literally be serving sliced children cutlets and fluffy hamster guts and I've never even thought about it. Same with Millies Cookies - "look, it wasn't around when I was 13 when everyone talked about people finding nemetode worms and gall bladders in their burgers, so I will unquestionningly consume it's wares". The doughnut was delicious mind, and was round, and had bits of chocolate on it when fell into the bag during transit, so I got to tip them onto the plate and then try and fasten them back onto the doughnut.

When I was younger, the jam doughnut was the king of the doughnuts. Mainly because you got jam in it, and in a more than slightly pathetic manner, I used to argue that they were better because you got less doughnut with a ring doughnut. I'm glad I grew out of that. People who think that are also the sort of people who celebrate their birthdays at midnight on the day before. One of my ex girlfriends birthdays was on New Year's Day, and she refused to even acknowledge it until the next day, despite the fact there was essentially a party happening right there and then. It's one of the reasons I fell in love with her. But back to the doughnuts, obviously garish ring doughnuts with icing and fingertraps for hungry wasps made out of sugar and drizzle and lemon and insanity, the Homer Simpson doughnut, the pumped-up party ring, these and these alone, are the only doughnuts anyone should consider. Clearly these should be digested with black coffee the colour of oil, and nobody else in the room. Then, and only then can the simplest of pleasures be truly immersed.