Last night I was cooking dinner and the doorbell summoned me away from the kitchen. My first thought was that Mirinda had somehow managed to arrive two hours early but this was impossible. I opened the front door to find a pair of Shirley Temples eagerly beaming up at me, a plastic bag held out in front of them.
“We’d like to sell you these potatoes,” the older one said with a wide grin.
“And how much are you selling them for?” I asked, bemused.
“For free. We’re selling them for free!” She thought this was a brilliant jape as she thrust the plastic bag at me.
“Genius price,” I noted as I took the bag.
“We had far too many in our garden so we’re giving them away.”
“Why, thank you. I’m sure they’ll be delicious.”
They left, skipping down the road, another plastic bag ready for our neighbours.
The thing is, they are very small and there’s only enough for one person. I can see these two little girls helping mum and/or dad plucking them eagerly from the ground but then saying there’s too many for them to eat and worrying about it as they start to sort them out at the kitchen table. One of them suddenly has a brilliant idea; divide them all up into individual bags and spread the bounty throughout the neighbourhood.
Obviously, mum and/or dad would have thought this was a wonderfully generous thing to do and encouraged them. I agree and think it was really lovely. The trouble is, in an effort to be as fair as possible, the amount of potatoes per house was very small. And, given the fact that the potatoes were small as well…well, there’s barely a mouthful for each recipient.
In my case that’s fine. I would have eaten them last night except I had already prepared couscous to go with my coconut curry (I love mixing ethnic dishes) but I can have them tomorrow night when Mirinda is off gallivanting around London.
To give you a guide…they are on a saucer! The white bit is where the cup goes. They are real Tiny Taters.
Today we decided to go up to the Devil’s Punchbowl to see how much better it is now the A3 is closed. Apart from the fact that you can’t even walk along the old road – something we really wanted to do – it’s fantastic. Hardly any traffic and virtually no noise. We, and about three thousand others, had a delightful walk. The poodles rather liked it as well.
Actually it was here, many years ago, that Day-z tried to run over a cattle grid and came a cropper. Carmen was running so fast, she just raced across the top of it. Following on her heels, Day-z mistimed her front feet and one paw went between the metal struts and she went tumbling. She tumbled and she screamed.
She screamed like her foot had been cut off. She wouldn’t stop screaming until I picked her up and soothed her. People thought we were abusing our dog. It was terribly embarrassing.
We wanted to see if they remembered the cattle grid. Of course they don’t run quite as much these days and are a little more careful about where they tread but, even so, Day-z did give the grid a cautious sniff before walking around it.
On the way back to the car, Carmen decided she quite fancied whatever was being served in the National Trust cafe and it was only because Mirinda noticed her disappearing into the depths that we knew where she’d gone and could retrieve her. It’s my opinion that this is where she acquired her sudden love for shortbread.
At home, Mirinda suddenly produced a packet of macadamia shortbread. To my knowledge, Carmen has never had shortbread or macadamia nuts but it was like she could read the packet. She was up and staring intently at the box before Mirinda even unwrapped it. Maybe she’s learnt to read. Whatever it was, she went a bit manic for a bit. Very odd.
I mean I can leave a plate of sausages sitting on the coffee table in the lounge while I get something from the kitchen and all I have to say to the dogs is to ‘stay’ and they do. They may try and stare down the sausages but they never come close to them. But shortbread…it’s way beyond me.
And what has happened to the gladiolus? It’s really starting to push through, that’s what!