I’d been doing so well.

After the Great Speculoos Poem of 2012, I kept my distance from the stuff. I couldn’t be trusted with it – I’d go into the kitchen to do some washing up only for my housemate to find me hunched over the jar, wild eyed like a fox caught in the act of tearing a bin open, and shovelling spoonfuls into my face. So I finished up the jar – this may or may not have included me dragging my fingers through the nooks and crannies to get the last bits – and vowed not to buy it again until I’d either gained willpower or lost about 3 stone. Continue reading →