When I was younger we had a tradition in my house of porridge and grapefruit for breakfast on Christmas Day, which came from my grandfather on my mother's side. Where he got the tradition I don't know, but it filtered down to my childhood all the same to the extent that I only used to eat porridge at Christmas or when I had a sore throat.
I have since branched out to eating porridge on other days, and had it for breakfast this morning, but strangely the smell this morning immediately took me back to my childhood. I'm not sure why, since it has never happened before. I'm guessing that a morning where sun is streaming through the window and central heating is a distant memor isn't conducive to winter memories. While this morning's weather, cold and drizzly, with the light still on at nine and radiators on at full blast, was. It's a strange thing, memory.
Coffee always makes me think it's going to rain, chips take me back to Rotterdam and TCP reminds me of my Great Aunt's room with the commode in the corner and a scary Queen Victoria painting on the wall. I can still taste the barley sugars.
I guess that porridge as a Christmas breakfast isn't all that strange, but half a grapfruit is very bizarre. I seem to remember that after my mum passed away the grapefruit was no longer fresh, but came in tins.