Reasons why Fran is not an Olympic athlete
I lie. I overheard nothing. It was my own conversation. But, for a moment there, you thought you might hear something interesting. I hope you enjoyed your nano-second of tension. It's all down hill from here.
Me: 'So, your father and I are coming up to Sheffield to see you at half-term, then.'
Daughter: 'Yeah, that'll be nice.'
Me: 'Dad says you'll be wanting to visit some remote place called Castleton.'
Daughter: 'Oh, fine. Okay, then. Yeah. Let' s go there.'
Me: 'Dad says you took him there before, and you love it there because of the beautiful scenery and the bus ride through the countryside.'
Daughter: 'Well ....'
Me: 'He says you love the whole nature thing, the walking, the views.'
'Mum, I like it because of the fudge.'
It's at moments like these that my little mummy heart bursts with pride. There's nothing more rewarding than knowing you have passed on to the next generation the best bits of your personality, your skills, your attributes, your instincts, your ambitions and desires.
I once made a whole batch of fudge to give people at Christmas. I put it all in a box and hid it at the back of a wardrobe from the rest of the family, forgetting that, in fact, the only person who was likely to raid it and eat it was me.
We gave everyone tins of biscuits from Tesco that year.
Tonight, I am not eating fudge, but I have persuaded the husband to open a box of toffee he was given for Christmas (presumably by someone who could Control Themselves). I have eaten SO much toffee, and I feel bad, because someone could have used that same amount of toffee to stick together our broken world.
The husband said he was going to put the box somewhere Up High, just in case. I presume he meant one of the shelves in the house......
|Fran's husband was taking no chances.|
I have started a new blog post category called Me and Food. I should have done it years ago, because the topic seems to