Confession, Dear Friend, I adore anything with a lid...
Who knows where this odd compulsion sprang from. I can half imagine, dreamily see, tiny me on tippytoes peeping over the top of the kitchen table; into the dark green cool air of the pantry; over the glassily curvaceous top of a pink, curtained dressing table.
The impish desire to prise the lid off ever so carefully and peek in. To be drawn in, wooed by scents and promises of the delicious. The pull of the unknown, the hidden. Its the curiosity that got the poor, unfortunate feline!
So this is predictably, but utterly and enjoyably marmalade in an orange marmalade pot. But oh, it has a lid. It makes me happy.
A familiar ritual, Friend. Tea and Toast. Marmalade and Mornings.