It would be true to say I was an indulged child (at least until Sister was born - I'm not jealous - honestly).
Every Saturday Nan would buy me two comics. Early favourites were Beano and The Dandy - how I loved Beryl the Peril (it may have been her striped t-shirt, not the beret; I've never got on with berets - they do accentuate the ears I find). In later years these changed to unsuitable teenage magazines with dodgy problem pages that made me feel inadequate as I didn't have interesting problems to send in.
An aside - while musing on problem pages - few nights ago when watching 4Music with my son there was an advert for a mobile phone service that advised on becoming a better kisser. We spent an idle 30 seconds wondering what advice they might give - we came up with to brush your teeth more than occasionally, shave off any extra straggly moustaches especially if used as a crumb catcher and avoid looking over your partner's shoulder to see if someone you'd rather kiss has come in the room.
Back to the past. The main indulgence was food especially regular sweets to go with the comics, Christmas selection boxes and best of all Easter. In spite of my misadventure I still love chocolate (Galaxy being my chocolate of choice - not so keen on anything with a high cocoa content - but then again Charbonnel et Walker rose or violet creams - although almost unnatural - are delicious and have great packaging).
It is Easter morning - I am in Nan's bed with my hoard. I inspect them closely and try to decide in what order I should eat them. Even with Easter eggs there are dilemmas to be solved - do I eat the caramel ones first (I don't like caramel very much) and get them over and done with quickly or save them to the end when I probably won't care less what I'm eating. I'm afraid it does not occur to me to share them.
Some time later Nan comes upstairs. I realise I will get into trouble, hide the boxes under the blankets and pretend to be asleep - I don't feel so good. She goes back downstairs and I go back to eating the eggs despite my churning stomach. Eventually the inevitable happens and I am violently sick all over her bedroom (I really do mean ALL over her bedroom). Nan is cross and shouts at me - this is the first time I ever remember her telling me off.
In future years I am only allowed to eat Easter eggs in public places.
Lesson 1: Don't be a pig - no one needs to eat that much chocolate.
Lesson 2: Avoid anything with caramel or rum and raisin flavouring.
Lesson 3: If you must over-indulged do it in your own bedroom.