Live dangerously, indulge in a mango

IT’S MANGO season once again and I’m hoping against hope that those pesky flying foxes don’t smell them before they’re ready to pick.

When I was about 10, my brother George and I both had boils during the mango season.

Being avid fruit eaters, we had eaten more than our fair share of the luscious mangoes and, for some obscure reason, blamed them for the boils.

As a result, until recently, I would not eat mangoes if you paid me to.

Yes, I sliced them, froze them in syrup, dished them up with cream or ice-cream for all and sundry, but never once did I feel the urge to eat any myself.

One day though, while serving up a generous portion for Fred, for no apparent reason I dipped into one myself.

No boils, but all at once I craved this yummy dessert like I hadn’t craved anything since I was pregnant!

No wonder (according to hearsay) King George VI ate mangoes sitting in the bathtub.

Juice ran down my chin, dripped off my fingers and stained my serviettes – but who cared!

Just thinking of all those years I missed out on enjoying this readily available luxury makes me realise we often deprive ourselves of the simplest pleasures in life because, owing to some preconceived notion, or swayed by the advice of others, we block our adventurous nature.

From now on, I don’t even believe myself when it comes to mind over matter.

So come on, let your hair down, live dangerously, eat wisely, but enjoy whatever takes your fancy and have a joyous and blessed Christmas.

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