Mocha Chocolata Yatter

The snow has all melted away and the cold, damp morning has a real January "back to work" feel. The tide is high and steely-rippled in the meagre dawn light. But it's warm in here and the coffee is hot and fragrant: Cariamanga from Ecuador, given to me as a kind gift by a friend who works there.

Most of the Christmas food-surplus mountain has now been converted into excess waistline. A few ill-flavoured Thorntons chocolates entreat with merciless determination from their yawning box. Come to think of it, most of their chocolates taste pretty poor - mostly of sugar. They're addictive and guilt-inducing, and I only tend to eat them when I have hangover anxiety. Blech.

We polished off the smoked salmon on Hogmanay, after an impromptu foodie get-together back here. You can tell it's a middle-class affair when your guests turn up at 3am equipped with cava and Bombay Sapphire, then send their husbands running (literally) back home because they've forgotten the Comte. We also finished my brother's rather fine spiced, pickled beef - I must get the recipe for that. The "evening" did, of course, finish up on whisky. A cask-strength Caol Ila. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

The coffee is working its magic and the world seems a brighter place. Probably because the sun's just come up.