Finding the perfect banana

Something special happened yesterday, an hour or so after the dawn of a new year… I ate the perfect banana.
I have one breakfast more than any others, and it’s 45g of Morrisons’ bran flakes with a sliced banana and oat milk. Sometimes we’ll have toast, occasionally we’ll have a cooked veggie breakfast, very rarely we’ll have croissants, and at times if I’m not hungry first thing I might just microwave some leftover brown rice and have that with liquid aminos. Generally, though, it’s bran flakes, with a sliced banana and oat milk. And of course, being British, whatever’s for breakfast there’s always tea to accompany… bog standard bags with one Earl Grey… and at least two cups… though let’s get back to that banana!
As already mentioned, yesterday the banana was just perfect. Even as I teased it away from its compatriots, I knew it would be good; the smooth pale-yellow skin was mottled and gently yielding beneath a gentle squeeze. As I peeled it, from top to bottom rather than bottom to top, the aroma rose — as did my expectation. The knife slid through easily and super-fat coins tumbled onto my cereal slice by slice, I didn’t even avoid the banana strings, or phloem bundles as they are technically called as they’d done their job well and were ripe to devour.
Impatiently, I took one fat banana coin between two fingers and popped it into my mouth. It was smooth, creamy, full of flavour and simply perfect, and far away from the tough green bunch I’d bought three days before. The passing of time had led to perfection, and I just hope that the two remaining bananas compare favourably to the one that went before.
And why am I telling you this? Well, firstly a perfect banana is something to write home about (or at least write about!), and secondly, I want to record moments that stand out in my life. They might be simple, or they may be stupendous; they may be poignant, or they might be mundane.
Writing generally brings me peace, some achievement and often satisfaction, and in some cases (as with A Guernsey Gardener in London for the Guernsey Press) it also pays a bill, or part of a bill in these ever more costly times.
So, a journal for me is what I will endeavour to do — and I’ll share it in case anyone is interested in what I choose to write.
I’ve got to the stage where my writing is now daily across all its guises — whether at my desk, on my tablet or an instant on my phone. The entries in this journal will be likely less regular, maybe a few a week, or maybe one, or maybe more… When the moment takes me, I’ll put pencil to paper, or fingers and thumbs to keyboard, and write and we’ll see what comes out.
The inspiration for my writing might be mundane, or it may be as spectacular as yesterday’s perfect banana.