I love it when you're reminded of simple pleasures that you'd forgotten you enjoy so much.

Like exhaling cold air harshly, a gasp in reverse, as you flick a shrinking ice cube quickly around your mouth with your tongue, all that's left of an iced latte, while your skin calmly continues to bask in blazing sun as you lounge on the steps of one of the world's most beautiful buildings.

Like waiting for a chattering mother to notice the new vibrant orange swirls on her crisp white jacket, courtesy of her gleaming-eyed toddler's preference for creativity over consumption when given an ice lolly.

Like catching up with an old friend over sparkling Prosecco and very many platters of grilled meat.

Like witnessing the fastest-ever FA Cup goal.

Like turning acquaintances into friendships over Guinness and chips.

Like witnessing the realisation of hope as life continues to go on and enforces happiness on us, despite our best and most understandable efforts to resist - and feeling so very pleased and privileged to see it.

Like waiting around for-fecking-ever in the company of compulsive bell-ringers and Hare Krishna over-enthusiasts while the least punctual man in the world wends his sarcastic way around possibly the entire London transport system.

Like prancing around in the comfiest high-heeled shoes in the world that outlast even the most sensible flat lesbian shoes.

And like laughing so hard and so long that your limbs fold in helplessly on themselves like a collapsing puppet on strings, and you can no longer speak, only helplessly squeak, and you consequently look and sound like a total lunatic, and you don't care one bit because you're having so much bloody fun.