3-COURSE CHESHIRE - WITH ALL THE TRIMMINGS

We arrived, son and father, rather obviously - rather traffic cone-like.  Fluorescent caghoules were never the classiest of fashion items.

But then colour is always good; embarrassment surely the preserve - where not the marmalade! - of those who feel embarrassed.

Look left ...

Look right ...

Look round ...

Look down ...

Step back ...

And - finally - go in ...

And maybe quite despite himself, mostly on the hoof, he buys a 3-course, #foodie-lovers' top-notch meal

Whilst the son sampled different flavours enthusiastically, and chattered excitedly, perhaps a tad overwhelmingly too, the father looked on with habitual bemusement.  Maybe not surprising; but surprises, themselves, can often be pleasurable.

A fabulous idea, then- taking its customers from an almost shaken-not-stirred James Bondian gag to a fully fledged business, satisfying curious ingenuity.

At today's market, the son's favourite poison?  Olives in cognac.  

"Go on," he exclaimed.  "Try them - and you'll see."  And people tried.  And they saw.

Father bought soda bread; son said um and ah.  Soda bread he liked very much, but - that morning as he dawdled - he wanted just a bit more than bread, on its own, would provide; just a bit more than the daily stuff of life, is that?

Bread was good; it always was.  But bread, however good, ain't novelty as a rule.  And novelty he was looking for.  A clash of tastes which became a class of tastes (as in top-class as well as a lesson to be absorbed, fascinated), in order that the day might be remembered more fondly; in order that the day be as fine as poss.

Round, broad, freshly-baked bap, it was then - with smoked salted beef, mustard mayonnaise, sauerkraut & warmly embracing sheet of emmental; firmly sliced down the middle by Nick the Chef, and shared generationally - perhaps surprisingly to both concerned - out of a kindness which cannot avoid its expression.

It was getting a little wearisome for now-weary father.  Son could've carried on doing what sons do on such photo-snapping occasions; but even he could see it was time to take timeout.  

Yet something caught his eye despite himself.  

Timeout would have to wait.

Gorgeously colour-coordinated apron worn proudly by proprietor; marketing materials standing out in such cleverness; all working together with fabulous macarons of amazing colours.  

There was pride in everything he could see on that stall; pride and gentleness too - a humble desire to do well; a professional wisdom of much hard & tough study; much deeper backgrounds of ways of seeing & doing, combined - yes, complementary skills coming beautifully, ultimately, together.

Almost as if the sugar, the cinnamon, the ingredients various, were being dressed up to walk head-turningly - down the pasarelas of famous fashion-house.

These macarons were that beautiful; that easy to fall in love with.  Dropdead, drophead physical presence.

So - whilst father searched covered market for treasured products accustomed - the son bought himself a mouthful of Paradise: a caramelised, apple crumble-flavoured macaron, tinged with cinnamon and obvious love. 

And saved for home, it reminded him of school - a schooltime favourite dragged summarily from the past; brought deliciously up to the minute ... almost a Proustian magdalena; a ratatouille for cartoon critic.

And it made him happy, ever so happy, to be reminded of good things from his past.

The worldwide web is a "treasure chest": of memories, of things which are, of many things still to come.

Let's, between us, make it the "treasure CHESTER" too.

A place where negatives do turn to positives in the darkrooms of our hopes & aspirations;

where the kindnesses we attempt to show each other can flourish despite our lives;

and where our desires to aspire to better existences lead us to choose to better the existences of everyone we meet -

whenever we meet.