The gift sat on the kitchen island. I'm perfectly happy to wait until Christmas Day before opening but I suspect it is biscuits. Bert says, what is it? I urge him to wait and see. He picks it up and rends a great tear in the wrapping. I pounce on it, sellotape in hand and re-wrap before he gets a chance to peek.
Did your mother allow you to open presents before Christmas?
Aye. Pearlie didn't give a fuck.
Honestly! That woman didn't have one single ounce of Christmas spirit. Apparently, they had tinned peas with their Christmas dinner. Can you imagine?
Not one thing prepared for Christmas today. I thought about the wreath. And I helped the postman. He was delivering mail on the road where I was out walking (briskly) and he asked me to put some cards in a postbox at the end of some farmer's lane. I mightn't say which road as it is, no doubt, a disciplinary matter to allow the unanointed to handle Her Majesty's mail. One other thing I did which was sort of Christmassy was get up at half-three in the morning and take Hannah to her work which she is starting particularly early because of Christmas. Home again within thirty minutes and straight back to bed. I awoke at seven from a dream where I was about to hang a raggedy, bearded man. Yesterday I was skinning my favourite cat. It's such a blessing that I am able to escape my violent and bloody nightmares.
The wrong kind of peas
6 comments:
Those green balls of sugar do not deserve the name pea! #justsaying
I agree. It has to be the crazy dried green pea that Matty served.
That is saintly getting up to taxi the child!
I only live to be saintly Amanda.
My mother used to serve those peas every sunday for lunch back in the 1970's. They were boiled first for about 45 minutes.
Oh and they were served with potatoes boiled for 2 hours and mince fried in lard before having bisto mixed through it.
The menu never changed.
Claire what was it with our mothers being terrible cooks? Mine used to do roast beef and it was like shoe leather. Yet, sad to say, my husband would definitely think that your mother's 1970s offering was a delectable lunch.
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