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Break Point.

Tonight's the second time in my life that I've become unreasonably excited on remembering I have a Kit Kat in my bag. 

That's not to say there haven't been occasions when I've achieved acceptable levels of joy at the thought of a two-or-four-fingered treat (INSERT YOUR OWN PUNCHLINE HERE). I'm certainly never disappointed by the prospect - but it's fair to say that tonight's moment of realisation gave me a spring in my step that's seen me through the rest of the day (at time of writing, we have four minutes left). 

The last time this happened was in 2003, when I was on tour with The Roy Orbison Story. It was in the midst of a matinee on a two-show day, after a very long week, that the fact I'd bought a chocolate bar earlier came back to me. The moment is seared in my memory. I was on stage at the time, wearing a white rollneck and a black suit jacket, playing the bass part to Mean Woman Blues. I'm sorry to say that the thought of that Kit Kat cheered me up so much that I started to put more effort into my performance. People had paid good money just to see this. 

Tonight's instance was less public, and I was less poorly dressed. I was on the train back from a gig in Brighton, having ironically just relayed my shameful Kit Kat / Roy Orbison Story story to the comic Katharine Ferns (with whom I shared my journey), when I realised that I'd done it again: I'd forgotten that I was 'with Kit Kat'. I've since devoured it like a man possessed. Sometime it's the little things in life that get you through.
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