Loving the honey

I do like honey. I grew up on my grandpa's homemade offerings, with the gentle hum in the garden from his hives, and will probably be on an eternal quest to find a pot that comes close to his, instantly whipping me back to my childhood (isn't it funny how taste and scent can so often do that). Its homeopathic qualities are famed, my gran swore by a teaspoon a day and popped it on cuts and stings,  and I can confirm that it does a great facial in the shower*.

I'd not gone to the supermarket to buy honey, in fact I'm not even sure how I wound up standing in front of the honey section, but there we are. I was astonished at the different varieties and their prices - has that always been the case? Bonkers. This one seemed to have the same consistency as grandpa's and I was intrigued by the English Borage, so into the basket it went. It's so clear and runny. I've been having it drizzled over frozen yoghurt, over fruit and, my favourite, on hot buttered toast. That salty-sweet pairing is lip-smackingly tasty, especially when served up with a steaming mug of tea.

*the trick here is to have a cheap, squeezy bottle of honey to hand. Slap it on your face before you get into the shower - you will feel stickier than a fly trap - and then enjoy as the warm water gently washes away the honey. It gently exfoliates and leaves your skin feeling just lovely.