Dinner last night comprised four young people, two old people, one cat and several dead fishes.
The smoked cod and salmon were scorched in hot milk they shared the pan with one BIG onion, some garden carrots, celery, parsley and three bay leaves. Four eggs were hard boiled, tiger prawns, pink prawns and scallops, were thrown into a big bowl, the eggs added, a good sprinkling of chopped parsley, then the tossing of the capers. Muddy potatoes were peeled and boiled. They were mashed with butter and sour cream, a silky white bechamel sauce was tipped over the fish, the pescatorial piquancy was stirred gently then all poured into an earthenware pot and baked on high until the tips of the potatoes were nicely browned like the tops of the Himalayas.
Jessie and Laurie sat to my left. Deedle and Pj sat to my right, The Old Git sat the far end of the table, I sat down wind and the cat lay along the top of the sofa.
The evening started around 7.30’sh and ended around 1.30’sh.
I laughed so much that I nearly damaged the gusset of my dungarees.
Getting out of bed this morning was a punishment. I walked to Falcon Road and waited for the 319. Like an old tar I rolled down to my acupuncturist. She stuck needles in the parts of my body that, if they could, would have scolded her and slapped the back of her hands for pricking me so savagely.
I walked in the freezing Balham air to Clapham South and watched the travellers scouring the ‘Metro’. I arrived in Leicester Square with cold fingers, wet nose and damp hair. You could have mistaken me for a Cockerdoodle bitch.
The show came out of somewhere in my body. How I dredged it up only Gabriel, The Patron Saint of Ham radio knows.
I supped lentil soup before the show and nibbled mulberry’s after.
We talked aggressive advertising for the under 10’s, internet dating for the over 50’s and Devil dogs for the Ca-9’s.
I must leave you now to your Tuesday Evening and you must leave me with mine, reheated fish pie and an elderly husband. Eating left overs is like the bland leading the bland….
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