Dark days in my household. I arrived back from my mothers with my new red Le Creuset breakfast milk jug resplendent in the rear of the car. Door opens, it crashes. I have been unable to shift a dark mood of disappointment ever since. I loved it. It was going to revolutionise the sauce pouring or milk on the table experience for me forever. I was never going to be forced to present an Elmlea or double cream container again. I was going to be chic. No more custard in a Pyrex jug. It was civilised city. Now that’s gone, vanished into shards Pete disposed of into the black bin. Sad days for me.
I should move on. I should be more concerned about my coughing and wheezing fit than earthenware. I should also count my blessings and realise it was a fiver, I can afford to replace it. Today was a lovely day for my mum. The family and her friend Pam went to dinner at a 17th century mill turnoff hotel and restaurant. It was rather seventies in decor, but food was lovely. Served by Hungarians, which I find ironic in catering. She opened her presents and loved them. No one is more enthusiastic than my Mum’s friend Pam. Everything is to die for. She has taken the words of Bryan Adams to heart it seems, 13 weeks at number one in the early 90s seems to have worked like a subliminal message. Her reaction to the Nigel Slater Tender book was epic.
Alas, exhaustion takes over. After a weekend with my family, it’s to be expected. I don’t know how Ina entertains so many people calmly. She must be medicated.
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