Monday, 29 August 2016

Take the money and run...

Well yesterday proved to be quite an unexpected joy.  The husband, who has come to the conclusion that as we are now of a certain age, there are events which we are duty bound to attend, suggested a local craft fair.  My first thought was 'Do I really need another wooden bowl?' but sympathy for his little face won the day, and we headed down to Henley in the morning. 

As my purse had been emptied yet again without me realising it (Chinese takeaway more than likely), we stopped at the cashpoint to give my bank account another hammering.  It was raining naturally, and the husband and I had no umbrella, jackets or waterproof shoes on, preferring to throw caution to the wind in August.

Fast forward four and half hours, and you find the two us waddling back across the grass to the car, laden with carrier bags whilst trying to drink a yoghurt milkshake through a paper straw without spilling it.  I had lost any circulation in my right arm by the time we got back to the car, and the husband was listing dangerously to one side. 

This was because we had fallen in love with the Pie Man, and had liberated £30 from my purse on six large pies for the freezer. We had also bought three types of cheese.  Now I don't eat cheese - I was just after some strong Cheddar to disguise Percy's medicine for his gimpy leg.  All other methods had failed, and the strong cheese was my last hope.  But of course, when somebody tells you that its '3 for £10', you just have to buy another two cheeses, whether you want them or not.

There were chocolate brownies for the kids, a couple of Christmas gifts, one pork pie, a leather bracelet (a present for me from the husband, who is obviously working up courage to ask me something...probably involving skis or a bike), fudge (two types) and some very gooey flapjack.  All this and the entrance fee had cost us just short of £200. 

Walking back into the house, son number one shouted up to son number two that we had been spending their inheritance again.  Notwithstanding his views on our decadent spending, he was more than happy to eat my pork pie...

The day ended with a family meal in a local Spanish restaurant, the owner of which is a long time family friend.  Mrs Jangles clearly has a small soft spot for the owner, and when we left, there was no dragging her off him.

As I said to Miss R as we waited for the clinch to come to its inevitable end,

'Who doesn't love a randy old Spaniard on a Sunday night?'

For once, she had no answer.

I have to say, that was more of a shock than the price of the pork pie...
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