Eva Bradley: 'Tis time for chocolate

You know it's Christmas when the Scorched Almonds ad comes on.

Nothing says 'Christmas is coming' quite like when you first see the old advert for Scorched Almonds come on air for yet another festive season. A disarmingly cute child is shown wrapping up each almond individually then finally, after scoffing most of the packet, addressing one to 'Mummy AND Daddy'.

I can relate. I bought five over-sized Toblerone chocolate bars in a bout of early Christmas present buying, wrapped them up and then ever since, I've been unwrapping and devouring them.

Ever since my metabolism started catching up with me, I've raged against my addiction to chocolate, and the socially unacceptable crimes it has compelled me to commit on its behalf (namely stealing other people's supplies). Recently, though, I have made peace with my sweet tooth and decided that if one must have a defining flaw then chocolate must surely be better than P or vodka.

But making peace with my habit doesn't make it any easier to live with, especially for others. My husband has become rather jaded with the way his supply of chocolate seems to be constantly falling off the table or out of the fridge at the exact moment that I happen to be walking past, yawning. Well, it's hardly my fault if the damned stuff just tumbles into my mouth quite by chance now, is it?

The other night while catching up with a former flatmate, I listened as her little sister complained bitterly about her own housemate from hell who would not only help herself to other people's chocolate but would then eat the entire packet, replace it ... and then eat the whole lot all over again. The little sister relayed the story with a sense of horror and disgust.

For her it wasn't just the crime of stealing someone else's food but eating something that in her world would last weeks, if not months. I looked sheepishly over at my former flatmate, who was grinning with amusement back at me. Although I washed the dishes and replaced the empty loo rolls, I would always, without exception, eat her chocolate, replace it, and eat it again - usually all within 24 hours.

My strategy at home now is simply not to buy it, and if I do, then I accept my utter inability to moderate, eat the lot in one sitting and remove the temptation. The tradition of giving chocolates as a thank you is received with a groan of despair at my home. You wouldn't give a bottle of wine to an alcoholic so I'm not sure why anyone who knows me well would ever buy me chocolate.

With a sense of resigned acceptance, I settle myself down with all the props of my addiction - cold milk, a trashy novel and a loose pair of jeans - and begin to work my way to the bottom of the packet.

I view those like my flatmate who can get an Easter egg and still not have eaten it by the time they're given another the following year with wonder and envy. Their sense of moderation is awesome and completely annoying.

Experience has taught me that I can't focus on any task, no matter how menial, if I'm thinking instead about what's in the pantry. Extra kilos are a small price to pay compared with the mental anguish of denial. The Christmas wrapping and carefully curled ribbon around the chocolate I had intended to give away could hold me back for only so long. Now that the seal has been broken my pleasure knows no bounds, even if it is a guilty one.

-Eva Bradley is a columnist and photographer