I was minding my own business, walking in the cool spring sunshine to get Saturday morning papers.

A plan was unfolding in my mind, as I noted the clearness of the air; the cherry trees exploding with improbable clouds of eyelid-pink blossom; the abundant flourish of newly planted pansies in the park (such a pampered park it is – does someone on Council prefer it?  I wonder, it’s always perfectly maintained); and the group of walkers clad in their ludicrous lycra uniforms, sitting circled on the grass with coffee from the bakery. (Why do they need to clothe themselves that way, can’t they exercise without it? Still, I was feeling too good to be judgmental, it’s such a waste of energy, and such a limiter of curiosity).

The plan was to set up outdoors with SBS on demand on my tablet, and consume the papers along with hot honey toast and strong, milky coffee. An instance where truly the pleasure of the anticipation and the experience were hard to separate: and indeed why even bother to do so?

All of this seems like such small stuff, and yet on examination, I had to conclude that what I was feeling was beyond happiness, that lovely quiet friend that soldiers on below the surface keeping you stable even when bad things happen: it was pure, irrefutable, exquisite joy. It was a soaring, delicious pleasure and delight and gratitude that even in living what could be described as a relatively ‘small’ life, that such joy can be experienced, and thus the realisation that this is a possibility and a hope for us all!

Of course, not all are open to the possibility, but that, my friends, is another story! I’m off to have my breakfast!