Feeling slightly guilty following our Easter celebrations. Not I-ate-too-much-chocolate-and-now-regret-it guilt, but what Misery Guts would call my Catholic guilt: the feeling I really ought to have carried out a duty, but didn’t. I don’t mean Easter bunny duties – BB was left in no doubt the Easter bunny had graced us with his (or her) presence. An Easter egg hunt, complete with shiny arrow signs, glossy bunny footprints and printed paper bags to collect the spoils (when did Easter Egg hunts become so sophisticated?) was planned with military precision, and discovering foil wrapped chocolate among the daffodils (pictured) had to be the highlight of her day. But after chocolate cornflake nests were eaten, the hours-old ring of chocolate around her mouth had been wiped away and BB was asleep, bunny ears next to her cot, it suddenly occurred to me the real meaning of Easter had not been mentioned. Once. […]
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