i’ve tried to write this three times in three days, and this morning — dim and rainy — i’m sitting here armed with hot chocolate and buttery brioche (and leaving little oily fingerprints on my mouse and keyboard), and i think it just might happen!

this might have been a story about great big bowls of gelato, and babies covered in chocolatey dribbles, but noontime on thursday we trundled up to a cold, dark room pretending to be a gelato shop on darling street. yes. if you wish to go to gelatissimo in balmain, make sure to get there after one, for that is when they switch the lights on and throw the door open. who do these people think they are — enforcing draconian ice-cream eating times on us!?

and so, ellaberry, arkyjoe, maevis, amber and i trundled on, further up the street, where gelato was had somewhere else. you see why this story took three days to tell; because (and i’ve just only realised it) there is no story.

i am sorry. but, hey, now you know where not to go if you feel like gelato for breakfast.

it’s just, i really wanted to show you this cookie that ella brought me:

you will note that in the drawing on the cookie bag, i have a cookie in each hand, and although there was just the one chewy, chocolatey, chunk-embedded cookie in the bag, the picture turned out to be quite prophetic, because you left your cookie behind, amber, and i ate it too.