Most of us have some of these, I have many, so this is just a selection.

Doughnuts. I almost never eat chocolate, and certainly do not crave it. I can take or leave crisps, most cakes, and fast foods, as in Fish and Chips, Kebabs, and Takeaways of all kinds. My sweet desire, is a doughnut; and hopefully, more than one at a sitting. To my mind, there is no ‘bad’ doughnut, just different degrees of deliciousness. Whether a humble jam or custard, as in five for a pound at the supermarket, the seductive Marks and Spencer ‘Yum Yum’ (so good, they named it twice), or a bespoke Italian Custard Doughnut, from Patisserie Valerie in Soho; so huge, it fills a plate, and has to be eaten with a knife and fork, the King, or perhaps Queen, of the deep fried, cream-filled confection: I love them all. Naturally, I am aware that they are not good for you. The arrival of Krispy Kreme, from the USA, with their family-sized boxes of goodness, could potentially have shortened my life. And their simple glazed ring, so tasty and moreish, could have replaced anything else, as my staple diet. So, I have to be strong, and not buy any. I just revel in the memory, and occasionally, very occasionally, allow myself one (or two) as a wicked treat.

Cajun Music. I have a very varied taste in music, and a large collection of records, as well as a vast number of recordings on CD. Many are even still in their wrappers, so unplayed, such is my fervour for collecting. I have Vintage Jazz, Motown, Ska, Drum and Base, Northern Soul, everything by Van Morrison, Steely Dan, and Madonna. I am also a great fan of more modern music, and own all the recordings of Amy Winehouse, Adele, and many others. I even have some Classical Music, and a few Operas. But for some reason, I also have two CD’s featuring Cajun Music. This strange, nasal caterwauling from the deep South of America, struck a chord (literally) somewhere in the musical part of my brain. The unintelligible, half French, half Creole ramblings, that pass as lyrics cannot be the reason. I don’t usually have any time for accordions, and the insular, swamp-dwelling life of the Cajun people holds no attraction for me. So, why this music? I have no answer. I just know that whenever I hear it, my foot will begin to tap, and I will start to think in French. Very soon , I am feeling the humidity of the bayou, and developing a craving for a bowl of spicy crayfish. Perhaps I was a Cajun in a former life, who knows?

Hachi – A Dog’s tale. Not only do I consider myself to be a film buff, I could justifiably be called a film bore. I can pontificate about Films and Cinema, until the listener has given up the will to live. I even have a category in this blog about the subject. I take the stand that all the best films ever made, will be in a language other than English, have subtitles, and probably be filmed in black and white. Yet, I have a secret. I love this film. It is about a dog, and loyalty, and it is very sad; think ‘Greyfriars Bobby’, but  originally set in Japan. I am a complete sucker for both the Akita pup, and the grown up dogs that all play Hachi. The fine American cast all play second fiddle to this tale of a dog, his love for his owner, and the love of the family in return. This is a two-hankie weepie,  a manipulative tear-jerker, firmly aimed at the family market; everything I normally hate. But I love it.

Rolling News. For choice, I will watch BBC News 24, though when it changes to a ‘feature item’, I will rapidly switch to Sky News. Since this format arrived in the UK, with cable and satellite TV, eventually transferring to specialist channels on mainstream TV, I have been hooked. It is the background to my daily life, always on, sound low, flickering in the background, just in case something happens. I don’t care that the same news is reported every fifteen minutes, and that the presenters look pushed to try to say something fresh about the same thing that they have been talking about for four hours; it is twenty-first century, instant access communication. I like the red information bar, with its breaking news, and currency rates, and I know all the names of the newsreaders, even the weather forecasters. And don’t try to tell me that nothing ever happens. One day, about 1.45pm, I had Sky News on, and something really big happened. It was September 11th,  2001. OK, it was a long time ago, but it was pretty massive, and the best ever example of the power of rolling news.

Nigella Lawson. I don’t really like cookery programmes, or the celebrity status bestowed on chefs, and cake bakers. However, there is one programme that I have on ‘series record’, and it definitely is not because of the food. Daughter of the hated Conservative Chancellor, Nigel Lawson (yes, that is how she got the strange name), the wealthy parliamentarian who served in the Thatcher Cabinet, possibly the most reviled gang in British Political History, she is also currently married to a millionaire advertising executive, Charles Saatchi. So, not a pedigree that normally appeals to someone like me, class-conscious, and from a Trade Union background. But have you seen her? Even at the age of 53, she has to be one of the most seductively attractive women on Earth. If an extra terrestrial ever landed, and asked me to describe the female of our species, I would show him her picture. She has a knowing smile, a wicked glance, and a sense of her own sexuality; and she can cook! She is all-woman, in the best way imaginable, and easy to discard principles for, in a heartbeat. (For foreign readers, I appreciate you will not know her. Google Images has some nice photos.)

There are some of my embarrassing pleasures, and I plead guilty to them all. I may let you know about some others one day. Then again, maybe not.