Honey toast

My fifth brother and I are 12 years apart in age. Not that you'd know it. He has always been a big kid. When I was little, I would follow him everywhere. Because he was interesting. Fun. Eccentric. People are naturally drawn to him because he's loveable and a kind human being. One of the fondest memories with my brother, are of Saturday and Sunday mornings, watching the weekly music countdown on Rage, then flicking over to Video Hits for the commercial version. I distinctly recall many a Sunday morning, hassling him out of bed, to watch the music video's with me. I never understood, as a child, why he was bleary eyed and dusty on these Sunday mornings. I realised some years later, that weekend night's for adults (which he was at the time), are often not about getting a solid 12 hours sleep, as they are for children.


He used to make THE best honey toast. Ever. I mean I make it ok myself, it's not hard. But whenever I eat it these days, I am instantly transported back to childhood. Commissioning my big brother to fix another piece of honey toast for me. And he always did. So on the lounge we'd sit. Watching the likes of Kylie and INXS and Bon Jovi and Bananarama. Munching on delicious, warm, buttery, honey toast.


This week has seen the return of the lengthy day nap for Felix. Which has meant Angus and I steal a couple of hours in the middle of the day, to just hang. Most days, lunch is nothing flashy. We try to use up the supplies we have on hand, then on the days when we are out and about at lunchtime, we pick up something extra nice to feast on. Yesterday Angus requested honey toast for lunch. Fabulous, I thought. And fabulous it was. As simple and probably non-nutricious as it is, there is nothing quite like butter soaked toast with honey. I will always love it, for many reasons. For now, I am appreciating toasty, sweet, lunch times with my little big man.