The journey is the destination ...

It's taken me years to understand this thing about me ...that for me, the journey truly is the destination.

It goes like this ... it's not that I simply want a cup of coffee and any old coffee will do.  It's that I want a coffee that tastes good, and I love it even more if it comes in a cup I adore.

My parents didn't raise me like this.  I suspect their preference might have been that I was the complete opposite, simply because they didn't intend raising princesses but there you go ... it happens to the best of families.

But journey doesn't have to be aesthetically pleasing, nor the destination.  My favourite house was a fairly grotty little one-and-a-half bedroom cottage that sat on the edge of Otago Harbour.  Everything about it was run-down and make-do but I loved the wall of old-fashioned wooden floor-to-ceiling-windows that gave me a view out over the lawn and the harbour.

I loved the drive home ... the twisting-turning kilometres between Dunedin city and Broad Bay, the narrow confines of a road that ran along the harbour-edge and tat was framed by a steeply-rising hillside in places. 

I packed my Nespresso coffee-machine for this time in the Wallonian countryside but told myself not to be silly about taking a cup too ...

Yesterday, we wandered over to Lille, France.  A car full of internationals and voila, what did I decide I might do.  I thought I might quietly keep an eye open for a cup for my coffee while I'm out here.

Voila!  I found this and it works.  That first coffee this morning was just so veryvery good in the red cup.