Henri Bergson (1859-1941) claimed that the purest, simplest form of happiness was to drink a glass of water when thirsty.
I would have agreed until today.
But now I know that the purest, simplest form of happiness is when you’ve been stuck on the Eurostar (running 30 minutes late) for 2 hours, that two 16 year olds are sitting right behind you, and that they have been discussing every aspect of their new shoes/hairbrush/the personalised licence plates they want for their 17th birthday for the said two hours, in loud, high-pitched voices, seemingly without catching their breath; when you’re seriously considering banging their hands together to make them shut the hell up but you know that you’d probably go to jail for assault so you don’t but you hate them with all your might and mutter shutupshutupshutup under your breath- and then! you remember.

In the little pocket in your bag, there’s a tiny little round box.

And in that little box, there is a pair of earplugs.

That’s happiness.

I’m easy, you see.