There is a HUGE bear in this post.
He’s very soft.
He is, in fact, extremely cute.
There are also cherries.

But this isn’t just a story about Jellycats eventually arriving in the post — though that does happen, and yes, there are ADORABLE photos too. This is also about comfort, about survival, and about the unexpected reasons we sometimes find ourselves clinging to softness when things feel hard.

Because the truth is, I didn’t just order Biscoff the Bear for fun. I ordered him on a day when everything felt like too much, and I needed something — anything — to hold onto.

The Arrival

Biscoff and his cherry frens had been on an unexpected misdelivery adventure. Despite us being home all day Saturday, the postman claimed no one was in, and poor Biscoff and his cherry frens were carted back to the delivery station, where they spent the entire weekend crunched up in a bag. While I was having my self-care Sunday — plushies, bath bombs, candles, hot chocolate, emotional recovery — he was all alone in postal purgatory. I kept thinking about him sitting there, waiting patiently, his tiny cherry friends curled up beside him like fruity emotional support.

This morning, my son and I were both keen to go out — we were in dire need of bread. Bread forms a key pillar of our household’s comfort and carb infrastructure, and things had reached the point of starch-based emergency. But someone had to wait in for the postman. I volunteered as Royal Mail Listener™, and my son ventured out in search of bread, as well as special food from Marks & Spencer to celebrate our new arrivals. It felt important to mark the occasion. I had bought him the Jellycat Cherries keyring as a small, soft gift to celebrate his two firsts at uni, and he was excited to welcome them.

He was gone a while — long enough to go full epic quest for supplies, return, and still, no postman. But then… just after 4pm, a knock at the door. We both bolted like cartoon characters, racing down the hallway to the front door. And there it was: the giant blue Jellycat mailer bag.

Inside: the one and only — Sir Biscoff the Brave, resplendent in fluff and dignity. And nestled beside him, the long-awaited celebratory cherries.

I ripped open that mailer with all the grace of a bear in search of peanut butter. Chaos, fluff, and excitement filled my living room. Inside the mailer was another Jellycat bag, sealed tight like a treasure chest — because of course Sir Biscoff travels in style. No simple box for this bear. No, he arrived wrapped in layers, as though even the packaging knew: this one is special.

Biscoff is ADORABLE

I felt really apprehensive opening the inner Jellycat bag. Jellycat bears are all unique — you never get the same one twice. Sometimes they’re not the best looking. Other times… they’re so cute you could cry. I was really hoping for the latter.

I pulled out my son’s cherries first. They are SO CUTE. He was absolutely thrilled — grinning, excited, and already tugging the keyring attachment off, because to him, these cherries were not accessories. They were plushies. Proper frens.

He immediately wanted to do a photoshoot with them. He even rushed off to get dressed.

“I’m going to have to go outside again! I really want to take pictures NOW hehe, THANK YOU SO MUCH. I really wanted these cherries, and I don’t think I would’ve bought them for myself.”
“Hehe, you’re welcome — I’m so proud of you. Well done at uni!” I replied, cheery on the outside, but still a bit apprehensive.

Then I finally put my hand into the bag. I felt the softest fur ever — and pulled out my new son, Biscoff. The face that greeted me? The most ADORABLE bear face I’ve ever seen.

I genuinely think he’s the cutest Bartholomew Bear I own. He has the biggest snoot, the fuzziest ears, the roundest belly and the most ridiculous floofy butt. I looked at him and thought, if he told me to go get him 7kg of Biscoff in the middle of a cost of living crisis — where Biscoff is £5 for 500g — I still would. No hesitation.

He’s also softer than my other Bartholomew Bears. I think Jellycat may have changed them again. He’s even slightly bigger than my other huge Bartholomew, So Mi.

Why I Have Two Huge Bartholomew Bears

Over the last few weeks of trying to increase my intake, So Mi has been an absolute lifeline. She’s sat with me through emotional rollercoasters, had my tears fall into her soft fur, and kept me company in the middle of the night when my son is asleep. We’ve only been apart when I’ve gone outside — which hasn’t been often.

I always worry that by loving my Jellycats so much, I’ll somehow ruin them. That they’ll get messy, or I’ll spill something, or they’ll change. So Mi, after everything we’ve been through lately, is starting to look pretty well-loved — and that was beginning to give me anxiety.

It really helps me to have two of the same Jellycats, especially since I often take them outside. I still get nervous, but knowing I have a backup lets me love them more freely. I can go “all in.” I can feed them Starbucks and know there’s one safe on a shelf at home — or more likely, in the pile of Jellycats on my bed.

I used to have two huge Bartholomew Bears, but my son bonded so much with one of them that I let him adopt Nick as his own. When I went on the Jellycat website to order his cherries — that was all I was going to buy — but after a few really painful days, after feeling like giving up, after crying into a tin of beans and pushing through yet another chaotic Biscoff-fuelled night… I needed something to hold on to.

Like my son, I needed comfort. I needed softness. A reason to carry on — any reason. I’ve said before that my reasons aren’t always life-changing or grand. When I feel like giving up, it’s not just my son I think about — it’s All the Small Things. (Great. Now I can hear Blink-182.) My morning coffee. A matcha shared with a bear. My new favourite leggings. A candle. And that blue Jellycat mailer being delivered to my door with a new fren inside.

So when it came to naming him… it was easy.

I Shall Name Thee Biscoff the Bear

Not only is Biscoff the same colour as Biscoff — and just as ridiculously sweet — but he’s here to forever remind me of the many crossroads I keep coming to: The Chaotic Biscoff Nights of Yore. Those reactive eating nights often feel make or break, like you have two roads to take next — go back and restrict, or continue on. I have to fight to choose the right path, every single time.

When I recovered last time, it was MANY Nutella-fuelled nights. I’ve thought about those nights a lot over the years — not just because, in hindsight, they ended up being completely unhinged and funny (I once woke up with Nutella on my sheets and thought I’d had a terrible digestive incident, until I checked and realised — nope, it was Nutella) — but because I was in a black hole, completely out of control. I’d resigned myself to the spaghettification of reactive eating and recovery, feeling like I couldn’t do this anymore, everything in me begging me to take me back. And yet, from right down in the tube of circles, somewhere near rock bottom, somehow with a little help from WeeGee I got out — with the spoon still in my hand.

Maybe I’ll feel the same way about these Biscoff nights eventually.
Biscoff the bear will be with me through the rest of them.
A companion to hold hands with when I fall down the black hole again and again, with a jar of Biscoff in one hand, and Biscoff the bear in the other. He doesn’t replace WeeGee, but he can offer me some of what she gave me, softness, comfort, and togetherness.

I’ve even bought him his own mini jar of Biscoff. (Don’t worry — the reactive eating chaos gremlin will inevitably eat it. I don’t buy food just for bears.)
Biscoff will keep his Biscoff with mine, until the time inevitably comes when I get overtaken by the chaotic, reactive-eating-fuelled Biscoff gremlin again.

But for now, my son and I are eating the fancy Marks and Spencer’s food he bought for us to celebrate. We’ve been having fun taking photos of our new Jellycats and finding a moment of love, peace, and comfort in the middle of the chaos.

Plushies in this economy are expensive — but I can’t put a price on that.
Jellycat can though. I mean… geez.

For those who don’t know, WeeGee used to end all her posts with a song, so now I do.
Bears, Bears, Bears!