There was a sweet little note from Melvyn this morning to say that he'd love to try out my strawberry and Tia Maria.
I knew I shouldn't have started making jam at that time of night.
It was a disaster.
I'd just got the whole lot off to a good rolling boil when I realized that mother had been at the Tia Maria.
There was less than a thimble full left.
I'll be lucky to get fifty pence a jar for it now and that'll just leave the field wide open for Bet Simpson to run off with all the awards for her bloody Victoria sponges, straight from Marks and Spencer I shouldn't wonder.
I wouldn't mind but she has everyone drooling over her flower arrangements ever since she got a Highly Commended at some obscure Flower Show.
The last time I did the flowers she came up to me and said, "Ah chrysanthemums, such serviceable flowers I always think."
It was all I could do not to shove the bloody things up her nose while telling her that I seen The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie and that she was long past hers.
I shouldn't let it bother me, but I hope one day she comes out of the Library, falls under the weight of her self improvement books and breaks her bloody hip.
Knowing my luck of course she'll die and I'll have to stomach a load of people at her funeral saying, "she was a wonderful woman."
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1 comment:
Funerals aways bring oot the best and worst of foulk!
People will say what is one their minds whether their brains are switched on or not. I shouldn't worry about the jam dear as long as it was made with TLC, that's what matters dear, there there.
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