Girls to bed, grown up conversation, civilised meal, more conversation and a rather late night. And in the morning, children, busyness, plans, more food, etcetera and so on. And an increasingly pervasive odour of ancient fish. Being the polite kind of a person that I am, I ascribed it to drains and ignored it. And being the polite kind of a person that my friend is, she too ascribed it to drains and surreptitiously cleaned the sink, scrubbed the loo, and sterilised the dishwasher. And the fish persisted. Until, eventually, in desperation, my friend picked up the bag of mushrooms to clean underneath them. And the bag collapsed, and the fishy smell multiplied, and a thin stream of foul-smelling fluid flowed gently out of the bag and across the room, under cupboards and into packets of biscuits and over the kitchen appliances, carrying with it a tide of baby woodlice.
The gift that keeps on giving.
My friend retaliated by giving me a box of chocolates on her return visit. I'm assuming she didn't know about the whole "Tia's having a madly healthy month or so and actually shedding pounds for the first time in years thing." It couldn't possibly have been revenge by sabotage, could it?
We agreed it would probably be best if I never again brought food to her house.
We've had a bit of a houseparty. My Trojan Mushroom friend for two nights from Thursday, and other friends on an epic journey from the
One of those beautifully relaxed mornings on Saturday. A house full of friends, children all pleased to see each other and content to gaze at each other and giggle, and show off to each other and be entertained by each other, and to need only minimal adult attention. Leaving three adults free to sit and chat and drink tea and coffee and eat breakfast and make more drinks and chat some more. And working in a kind of synchrony which had one friend rootling through the 'fridge as another poured muesli,and as I lovingly sliced and toasted some extra delicious bread yet another friend had made for us a few days earlier. I passed the toast across and sat back with more coffee.
And a small, diffident voice asked "May I please be excused from eating this?" And we looked, and realised that not content with the mushroom incident, I had somehow failed to notice the rank mould thickly coating the bread, which had turned a vivid blue whilst being toasted.
We had Tesco Sandwiches for lunch. And, oddly enough, my friend decided to leave before tea on the Saturday. For I am truly the hostess with the mostest. She had her revenge again though; leaving hot chocolate souffles and cream which remaining friend and I were forced to eat last night. It's a tough job, but someone has to do it.
And now they've all gone, and the musical beds have stopped, and the girls are sleeping sweetly in theirs, the cats have settled for the night on the shower bench, and I can hear my own bed calling my name.