|
MARGARET
BAKES A NICE CAKE
A
GLASS OF SEASONAL SQUIT
I have to admit to being rather perplexed, one morning a few
days before Christmas last year.
I
was looking at the glittering display of greetings cards we’d
had through the post that day, but one I’d been looking
forward to was conspicuous by its absence. Was it still languishing
in the post, or had it been delivered to someone else’s
house, I wondered?
Such
was my quandary, that I decided to enter the ‘holy of
holies’ – the inner sanctum of the kitchen –
to consult with my Margaret.
Accompanied
by the sounds of egg-beating in basins and the stirring sound
of spoons in Tupperware bowls, my nearest and dearest was
merrily humming away to herself – carols, seasonal music,
what a load of old humbug, I thought – as I opened the
kitchen door!
There,
as my eyes took in all the colourful concoctions and my nostrils
became pleasingly teased by the spicy aromas of the festive
delights, the familiar strains of Good King Wenceslas invaded
the innermost privacy of my ears.
“When
tha sno lear round about, deep an’ crisp an’ ee-EE-ven,”
Margaret warbled, rather off key (most likely due to the half-empty
bottle of sherry, I spied with my little eye secreted behind
the microwave).
“If
that snew like that did back in ’63,” I laughed,
“no-one ’ud be gorn nowhere, let alone ole King
Wassisnearme!”
“Wha’s
a-matter onnya, Albie?” Margaret asked, dabbing her floury
hands on her pinny.
“Wun;
I carn’t mearke that out,” I replied, scratching
my head, “I’m puzzled an’ gittin’ all
flummoxed I am.”
“Wha’s
that all ’bout, then?” she asked.
“I
jist had an email from the boy Harbert – what live in
furrin parts – an’ he reckins he’s gorn an’
lorst our address, so dun’t think we’ll git a card
frum him ’corse we oan’t he sez!”
Margaret
‘tut-tutted’ to herself and, wielding her palette
knife like an expert artex-plasterer, began applying a good
inch of snow to her latest culinary creation – the Christmas
cake.
Pausing
for a moment, to stand back and admire her handiwork, she
set to with increased vigour and began planting a little copse
of snow-capped pine trees, until it took on the appearance
of a mini-Thetford forest!
From
behind one tree, a rather furtive-looking Father Christmas
peered out, adjusting his bright red coat – or that’s
how it looked to me!
“How
come Harb lorst our address?” asked Margaret, adding
a reindeer to the seasonal scene before pouring herself another
glass of sherry.
“Suffin’
to do wi’ bein’ all fumble-fisted an’ pushin’
the wrong button on his compoota,” I replied, shaking
my head in dismay.
“Din’t
he dew that larst yare?” Margaret asked, pausing for
a while to decide just where to erect a ‘Merry Christmas’
sign on her cake.
“Tha’s
hoolly careless onnim, that is,” I told her, “some
people shaun’t be allowed near compootas – pressin’
the wrong button, I arsk you!”
 |
|
| “YEW
KIN FERGIT THAT IDEAR!” |
|
Then,
casting my mind back to last year, when a similar thing had
happened, suddenly, the truth dawned on me.
“I
reck’n tha’s my fault, Marg’rit,” I confessed,
as I’d forgotten to send our ‘friend from foreign
parts’ the address he had requested. “He arsked
fur it larst month, but I s’puz I jist plearn forgot!”
“Yew
greart daft lummox,” mobbed Margaret, “dun’t
yew think yar havin’ none o’ this cearke until yew
send Harb our address, ’cos yew en’t!”
Standing
there, all glum and dejected, I thought just a little seasonal
affection might ‘put things right’ and held a sprig
of mistletoe over Margaret’s head.
“An’
yew kin put them there idears streart outta yar hid this verra
minute, an’orl!” she laughed – and poured herself
another glass of sherry!
PS:
Do yew watta send Marg’rit an’ me a Christmas card,
yew kin allus do that as ’n’ attatchiment to ’n’
emale – but we carn’t send all onnya one ’corse
we’re lorst, loike Harb, we’re missleard yar addresses
agin! But, may Peace and Joy be yours this Christmas, and
may the New Year bring good health and happiness to you all
– Albie & Marg’rit. xxx
Please
sign our guestbook
as we would love to hear from you – or,
if you prefer, email:
|
