Categories: uncategorized
Date: 05 February 2011 22:45:18
Sitting down on the back doorstep with my characteristic lack of grace, I begin to tug my wellington boots from my feet. As usual, the socks are intent on being removed at the same time. I reach to pull them back on and, as I do so, I notice something which causes me to smile. There is a flower pushing through a crack in the paving. On closer inspection, I discover it to be a snapdragon, resplendent in glossy green and holding aloft a single spire of cheerful russet blooms.
One of these gloriously cheeky flowers mutely invites me to pinch it. I acquiesce, feeling the familiar thrill of childish delight as it obligingly opens it mouth for me. A throat of richest red is revealed, with a bright yellow splash leading into its depths. Repeating the pinching movement, I hold a brief conversation with my new floral friend, stopping only when I hear voices from within the house.
Scrambling to my feet and fumbling in my pocket, I draw forth the heavy iron key with its cotton-reel key ring. It turns in the lock with a satisfying clunk and I swing the back door open.
Mmm. Warm cake.
Nan has been baking again. The smell which greets me belongs to her latest creation, a Victoria sponge. She has a knack of making light, fluffy cakes that never sink, never to my knowledge at least. This one is no exception. Two halves of warm, brown tastiness give off a heavenly scent as they cool gently on a wire rack, awaiting their anointing with home-made jam and a final dusting of icing sugar.
Resisting the urge to break off a small piece of cake to eat, I pass the tempting rounds and head in the direction of the front room. I intend to play the wheezy old organ which Nan keeps there, but my steps falter as I pass a half-open door en route. Turning, I push the door wide and am greeted by a familiar sight; a curious miscellany of fascinating objects which throng the small room on every side. A paradise for my ever enquiring mind, especially as the “Don’t fiddle!” rule which hounds me in every other house does not apply here.
I am busy conducting an intricate exercise in timing, involving numerous ailing alarm clocks, when my Mum’s voice breaks into my contented little world. It is time to leave. With heavy tread, and heavier heart, I drag myself reluctantly to our car. As is her habit, Nan guides Mum safely out of the secluded driveway. I wave goodbye as the car retreats down the lane, straining to see her until the last possible moment - when she disappears from sight.