Identity artefacts

I tried to wean myself off coffee this week.  I do this periodically, usually at the point where I'm drinking about six mugs a day, having gradually built up from the last time I stopped drinking it, then resolving to just have one mug a day, and so on and so forth.

But the thing about my relationship with coffee is that I almost feel as though it defines me.  That's a strange thing to say about a drink I know, but I suppose I should be grateful that I don't feel that way about something like Scrumpy Jack's.  I'm just not the same person when all I drink is water and tea.  Because tea, for me, is the equivalent of a lovely warm hug and should really only be drunk in times of peril or illness.  It doesn't feel right, drinking it when I'm well.  No - coffee is my drink, black and sugarless.  Just like me.  Or not.

The coffee episode made me think, rather self-indulgently, about what other things define me, so I've included a nice little list of five below.  Feel free to do the same with five things that define you, if you like.  It's the perfect selfish Sunday afternoon activity (that, and finishing an almost entire tub of Haagen-Dazs Limited Edition White Chocolate and Raspberry ice cream on your own).

1. My name
Rather obvious, this one.  But I didn't quite realise the enormity of it until I got married and I changed my name.  My married name didn't feel like it referred to me any more, and as such I only really use it for business.  As much as I love being married, the only name I really identify with is my birth name.  In the unlikely event of me ever getting a book published, it'll be published in my name.  Partly for me, and partly for my Dad, who with three married daughters doesn't really have any way for our family name to be carried on.

2. Taking very British books on holiday so I don't get too homesick
Bit weird, this one, but if I go abroad, and especially by plane, I must always have a very British book with me or I feel a bit lost, for some unknown reason.  I think it originated when I went on a holiday one year to Las Vegas over Christmas, falling extremely ill while I was there and being holed up in my hotel room for most of the trip.  The only things that saved me (especially on Christmas Day when I was probably more homesick than I can ever remember) were copious amounts of English tea (told you it was an "ill" drink) and a copy of Andrew Collins' 'Where Did It All Go Right?'  Now a foreign holiday isn't really a foreign holiday unless I'm carrying a book by David Nobbs, Stuart Maconie, Andrew Collins or Karl Pilkington, all marvellous bastions of Britishness.

3. Writing
Pretentious, probably, but I must write something every day, whether it's something like this blog, a private diary or one of my rubbishy stories or novels.

4. Cheese
See: 'Coffee'.  I'm fussy about a lot of things, but not cheese.  I'll eat any cheese of any description, and that's it.  I'm that annoying person in restaurants who orders the stinkiest, strongest cheese that makes the entire room smell and puts everyone else off their dinners.

5. Jason Mraz's 'No Stopping Us'
There's something about this song; it came up as the answer to a rubbishy quiz I did once called "What Jason Mraz Song Are You?" (I know, but I was bored).  But I was pleased; it's a lovely summery song and I feel an affinity with it.  So there.

So there you go...and I'm sure after I've posted this I'll think of at least another ten defining things that a) are a lot more interesting than these, and b) don't make me sound like a mental patient.  I'll let you know.