Wobbles...

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Well it looks like this fabulous weather is going to last quite a bit longer if the weather man is to be believed.  This is great news for me as it means that my shorts and flip flops will not be retiring after their short sojourn to La Belle France.  It also means that my suntan might last a little longer than Donald Trump's combover in a stiff wind which is also good news.  Of course, if history teaches us anything, the minute I get the tent up at a Binland event I'm helping out at in August, the heavens will open and I'll have trench foot for the next few weeks and will be sporting a permanent scowl.

Anyway, I shall enjoy the weather while it's here.  We were at a dear friend's birthday party on Friday evening, and were still dancing well into the night WITH NO COATS ON. We Brits are so used to preparing for every eventuality, but on Friday night, there was no evidence of a single sock, welly, cardigan or wrap.  No one was asking for a warming coffee or cup of tea around 10.00, nor were the hosts expected to provide blankets for their guests as they all huddled around a fire pit pretending to be having a wild old time.  

However...

I have to be very honest here.  By 10.00, I wouldn't have known if a blizzard had come though the Home Counties, as the host's mother had made some jellies, and she was very insistent on everyone trying at least one.  Now I love jelly.  No, I really love jelly, and it appears in one of my Nanny Joyce's crystal bowls at least once or twice a month.  Lime is my favourite, but everyone else in my house prefers pink jelly so lime rarely gets a look in.  But these jellies were green, and thinking that this was pudding after an excellent barbecue, I stacked several up in front of me.  I then went looking for a very small spoon to eat them with, failing quite substantially and returning to my jelly stash with a plastic fork. And I went and ate the lot.

Of course, I doubt the jellies alone would have caused me much trouble, but as they had been preceded by several glasses of this and that, by the time we left, I was as wobbly as the bloody jelly.

Muttering to the husband as I passed out, I asked him what flavour the jelly was as it didn't much taste like lime.  I think I also asked him why there wasn't a little jug of cream to go with it.

'It was vodka flavour', he said with a 'where has she been hiding for the last thirty years' kind of sigh. 'Jenny's Jellies are very well known for having a bit of a kick'.

I'm now reconsidering my own jellies...



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