All I ever wanted to do was lie around in bed with you, I was only nineteen, only nineteen.

Innie asked what I think of when I hear 'Luxurious' or 'indulgent'.

So, lying in bed this morning, chatting to John about what to do all day, it struck me that that, now, is sort of both. Just being in bed, with nothing specific to do.

I love the feel of soft cotton on my skin, especially when it's warm. I really like being comfy and warm. It makes me feel safe.

Whenn I was little and all the madness that was our house got too much for me I'd climb into the cupboard where Mum stored the sheets and towels and stuff - warm from the immersion heater - and just burrow into it all. The house was often cold, we were often cold, and this was like a little safe cocoon where I could escape everything.

So although it doesn't sound much, I think of warmth and softness as being luxurious now. But not in a fur-rug-in-front-of-a-fire way. I mean, that might be nice, I don't know. But I prefer to be wrapped up in something. It's why I like old baggy jeans and fleecy soft hoodies, I suppose.


Indulgence for me is all about food and drink.

Dessert wine is truly indulgent. Rich and sweet and perfect. Or really good coffee. Perfectly cooked meat, and most important, time and good company to enjoy it all.

Time, I think, is the most luxuriant and indulgent thing of all. And something my job frequently drives home is the fact you need to enjoy it whenever you've got it. As such, today has been a perfect mix of a bit of a lie in (thank you Mycroft), a long, luxurious breakfast of pastries and coffee, then ice skating and a wander around the Natural History Museum. The best company, the nicest day. Wonderful.

As I posted the other day - "Time Goes, you say? Ah no! Alas time stays....we go.'