The cookies had lines running across them like wrinkles. I thought I was biting into experience.

Biscuits and I go a long way...

My school tuck box would be filled with them. Later in life, I gave them identities.

The smooth sandwich ones with creamy fillings were Passion. On days when one could fling politesse away, I’d open the ‘sandwich’ and lick the orange/chocolate/caramel centre (although vanilla has remained a favourite) and as it slathered my tongue I’d take little bites of the ‘cover’. They meshed so beautifully in my mouth.

Then there were cheeslings, always a handful on the ready. They were my Moments. Even before I could feel them, they were gone…yet, they left a lingering cheesy taste.

At the local bakeries there would be fresh off-the-oven ones, sweet and shapely. I would eye them and devour them not due to hunger but a sense of devotion. They became Faith.

How can I forget the sturdy Glucose-Marie combo that stayed with me? I have sometimes made a meal of them, dunked a few in cold milk and, just before they turn squishy, I spoon them. They are wet and white, my shining Knights.

I love biscuits, sweet, salted, or even the bland and nutty ones, the latter often serving as dessert.

I am discovering how innovative one can be with these humble munchies. I put in strips of cheese between them; I make a mélange with yoghurt; I warm them; I freeze them.

They do not let me down. I have had them in the morning for breakfast and later for lunch and then dinner again.

It fortifies my belief that there is always a lot to discover about just one thing. As those brown flakes fall on my t-shirt, I do not have the heart to brush them away. I gather them in a paper napkin and fold it into a cone. Tilting my mouth the crumbs fall in and are gone.

I cannot remember who said it or even the exact words, but it was about how the bricks flung at one can be made to create a foundation.That thought trails me. For a strange reason I think about it as I bite into those wrinkled cookies. I have never tasted bricks – not any that memory allows – but biscuits have been a part of my life. Perhaps, if you were to fling a choco-chip my way I'd crush it beneath my feet and create a mud track to walk on.