they were talking about fruitcake on the radio, so I wrote to them:

Again and again, I keep finding that I am my father's daughter, and no more so that in the way my tongue is ageing.

Growing up, fruitcake was one of the many treats that my skinny-as-a-rake father used to keep in his pantry in large quantities. He'd go striding into the kitchen, and put the kettle on for another of his perpetual cups of tea. Before the water had boiled, he'd have munched his merry way through at least half of a small loaf. This ritual was repeated at least half a dozen times a day, with fruitcake or bagels smeared in butter, or some other carb.-rich delish!

I always thought his almost maniacal treat-seeking was weird, or at least gross, and used to tease him about it often. Just yesterday, however, I bought, on impulse, my very first fruitcake. I'm not quite sure when I started enjoying fruitcake. Not more than a few years ago, it seems. About the same time that I started thinking that x-mas pudding and mince meat tarts were tasty. Now I own one of my own, purchased for my pleasure alone.

As I left my desk yesterday evening, and strode into my kitchen to refresh my mug of tea, I nearly laughed out loud at how much I, bent over my moist little cake as the kettle boiled, have come to resemble my father.

And now I think I'll send him one - it has a long way to go (he lives in South Africa now), but however long it takes to get there, I know it won't last long once it's arrived!

(signed: me, reluctant lover of fruit cake)