Guilty pleasures

I'm not sure whether these small pleasures really deserve to be deemed guilty. They're certainly not necessities but they're hardly harmful. My life would be perfectly happy without them but it is a smidgen, sometimes even a splash, happier for my occasional indulgence. These are my slightly-guilty pleasures.

Chinese Massages
They are advertised as 'Traditional Chinese Massages', but having not visited China myself, I can't verify how steeped in tradition these actually are. In Australia, they're on offer in foodcourts, pedestrian malls and in Sydney, at least, along bustling streets. It costs roughly $1 per minute, can be given in convenient 20 minute blocks and is usually given in a plastic chair. It involves no aromatherapy oil or rainforest music, fluorescent lighting is often above head and the masseuses talk very loudly to each other throughout the treatment.

It lacks all the ambience of a day spa but my goodness it is a treat I love. If I am ever truly rich, immediately after I hire a butler, I will hire my own personal masseuse who specialises in Australia's take on the Chinese tradition.

My personal favourite is neck and shoulders. The trick is that the masseuse kneads their hands – and sometimes elbows - into such a frenzy that it triggers a level of discomfort just a few sensations away from eye-watering pain. It's not particularly relaxing but I am magnetically attracted to those little plastic seats. Having described it like this I would understand if you don't see the appeal. Maybe that's why I think it's guilty. It all seems so wrong, and yet, it feels so right.

RockLea Road*

 This is my all-time confection of choice and given its calorific density it is legitimately guilty when consumed more than once a month. Darrell Lea has nailed this heavenly concoction of marshmallow, coconut, milk chocolate and peanuts. Though to be fair, with that combination of ingredients, anyone could probably nail it. I mean with chocolate and marshmallows it's hard to go wrong. I've never met a rocky-road I didn't like or didn't want to eat.

I embrace all variations on the original recipe so long as chocolate and marshmallow feature prominently. I'm yet to encounter a situation that couldn't be rectified, at least momentarily, by a little rocky road.

Something glashy

Somewhere between trash and gloss in the newsagents lies my favourite class of magazine. The Glashy. Not a bible like Vogue or Harpers Bazaar which can easily intimidate a girl without access to a six-figure wardrobe allowance or a working knowledge of Erdam's newest collection. Or even who Erdam is. And not something totally flimsy that preys on cellulite and rounded abdomens to fill its pages.

I find the void is filled by Who, Grazia and Hello! They don't enrich my life or fulfil any intellectual purpose but, oh how I love them, when I lay my hands on them.

In a previous life I used to flip through them religiously at the supermarket check-out each week but these days my regular grocery companion is rarely patient enough to indulge me. It is a joy I can only enjoy solo. Perhaps that's part of the fun.

What little things do you really love? Do you enjoy them guilt free?

*Alas this is not a sponsored post from Darrel Lea. If it was I would take payment in RockLea Road.