Why you have to try this peanut brittle | The Australian Sweet Co.

Hey there,

So this week my pals at Australian Sweet Co slipped a morsel of happiness through my letterbox to brighten up my Friday. And by slipped through my letterbox I clearly mean I got a missed delivery card and had to head over to the industrial estate where dreams go to die to pick it up. But yeah.

I’ll be honest. I don’t usually like peanut brittle. Every time I’ve tried it in the past I’ve had to forage about for tools just to break it in half, and then wonder ‘hey, do calories even count when the entire thing is lodged in my molars?’.

But the Salted Caramel Peanut Brittle and the Chocolate Covered Peanut Brittle from The Australian Sweet Co was actually delish. It shattered easily so you can, you know, actually chew it, and the hint of salt was delicate and not at all overpowering. It’s quite sweet, but that’s actually pretty good for me because if something can be consumed in one serving, I will consume it in one serving – so having this little slab of joy on hand for an afternoon tea break was ideal.

Thank you Australian Sweet Co! (p.s. they do personalised rock candies too. So if anyones birthday is coming up, you’ve been warned.)

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This product was gifted but all opinions and brittle love my own. 

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Safe Journey Home

“Next waiting”.

I scuttled up to the border control desk, patted my passport and boarding pass down on the desk and looked up. “How was your time in Australia, darl?” uttered the Aussie-as-they-come teller. “Great, thanks” I replied, choking slightly on my words; the goodbye behind the departure doors still freshly forming that wrenching lump in my throat that I knew all too well. Bleary eyed and puffy as a Pokemon, I looked up and caught Aussie-as-they-come teller’s eye. “Safe journey home, miss”, he muttered, donning a slightly crooked grin on his face that sort of said ‘enjoy the 24 hour flight to freezing winter’.

Home. Safe journey home. As I picked up my maroon passport with those lions so dear to my heart plastered across the cover, I retreated. Home? What a fool that man was. I live here now. And then I realised. No I don’t. There it was staring me in the face. I’m leaving my ‘home’, to go ‘home’ (the somewhat obnoxious inverted commas being the operative and soul defining punctuation in that sentence). Here I was patting myself on the back for making a life for myself on the other side of the world, feeling excitement – albeit sewn with sorrow – to be heading back to the UK for Christmas. I’ve got two homes now – the words I’d been foolishly serenading my days with. It wasn’t until Aussie-as-they-come teller wished me a safe journey home, that I felt like I’d stripped myself of a home. Suddenly neither place felt like the ‘h’ word, and it made me wonder – what makes a place a home?

With the woman to whom I owe my entire existence, my Mum, on one side of the world, and the person I love on the other, I found myself literally torn between two places. Don’t get me wrong, it’s hardly the first time I’ve felt torn. This was inevitable, and a somewhat familiar feeling – but never before like this. My solid allegiance to my home country of England had always reigned strong in these situations. Sure, Melbourne was fine, but it’s not home. But when you’ve been in a place with a person you love for so many months, you create a routine, a day-to-day existence, and a soft spot for the things that make it what it is. Every step closer to comfort in that place, takes away from the comfort of the old place. And so I’m asking, can you call two places home, or does every extra ounce of love for one unstitch a part of your love for the other? You feel like you’re cheating on one of the places by missing the other, yet we can’t go about our lives longing for another place, either. How do we juggle a love of two homes? Is it two homes, or are we actually a wanderer, seeking validation and confirmation of one decision?

A sombre thought to ponder, fellow nomads. I apologise. Upbeat and humorous sequel to this post to follow. Promise. Spoiler alert – I’m going to review an American reality show that I found called Dating Naked. (Don’t panic. It’s clean.)

Love always,

Coco xx

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