Inherited Addictions

Can addictions be inherited?

I’d always suspected that she was drawn to it. Sure, you’d not be able to tell, by looking at her. She’s not a large woman. She very rarely has a chocolate moustache. But there was something in my mother’s behaviour that made me suspect the nature of her weakness.

I knew all about her fondness for licorice. And for those throat lozenges, those red pastilles that taste like cloves and aniseed.

I know she is passionate about music and dance and she harbours a penchant for wine. All of which I share her fondness for. But last Christmas I learnt something new about my mother that made everything make sense. All that sighing  and licking of lips, and the wild-eyed stare.

Last year I gave my mother a humungous box of qaulity chocolates from Hotel Chocolat. I gave them over on Christmas morning with a flourish. She smiled, but oh she was sneaky. She didn’t give the game away.

That was the last time I clapped eyes on that box of chocolates. She ate every single chocolate. Every little parcel of chocolate perfection.

She did not pander to maternal instinct.

She did not share. Not even one.

That, you surely must agree is the sign of a true addict. Or so I thought, until our recent sojourn to Amsterdam. After our dinner out on the first night at the local Indonesian (Padi) we sauntered home – to our cosy rented apartment in trendy Jordaan which we rented through online accommodation market Wimdu - cracked open some Hoegarden and relaxed in front of Dutch TV, which as any experienced traveller will tell you provides a succinct anthropological study of the local culture.

Whilst my Englishman was overwise involved – in Graeme Norton shows dubbed over in Dutch – I slinked off into the bedroom to grab some mood enhancer. Unbeknowns to him I had been given these to try.

Delicious Hotel Chocolat Petit Fours

We nom nom nommed a few and then retired. I couldn’t have anticipated what horror would greet me in the morning. My Englishman came to me brandishing the box of chocolates and there was one half of an Eton Mess left. Obviously, as he had been dead to the world, I had sleepwalked in the night and..

..and..

Oh the shame!
Oh the gluttony!

Personally, I don’t blame lack of willpower, or even the deliciousness of the quality of the chocolate (and by God it is good!). Nup I blame Mum, and her faulty sugar blanched DNA. Now if only I’d inherited her slim figure also.

NB/  Hotel Chocolat have very kindly given me a box of these very cute stocking fillers to give away. All I need is your creative answer to this question:

Who stole the chocolates during the night?

And leave a comment below and I’ll be able to put all emails into a lucky dip and draw a winner. Sorry but this competition is only open to UK residents.