I just wasn't expecting to find this tossed into my garden. Or to come home from leaving it snoozing on my lawn and find it had moved to haunt another side of the garden! I was half expecting it to be tapping on my bedroom door that night after dragging its nibbled haunch up the rapidly not cream stairs.
Luckily I wasn't alone with it for long as I had ten people coming round for dinner.
"Come in. May I take your stylish coats? Collectively they look worth more than the entire contents of the market stalls down the road". Mwah. Mwah. Mwah. Whoops tongue, "Sorry Roast. Come through. Have a drink. Now, come and look at my centre piece in the garden." "Oh." "You don't even see that in Croyden", squeaked Bob. "That isn't what we're having for dinner is it?" And so it went.
No, I'd gone for a subtler flavour of meat that night with sausages roasted on a tightly packed bed of cherry tomatoes, handfuls of rosemary, thyme, and oregano, and lashings of balsamic vinegar and wine. Soaking through mash potato and mopped up with crusty bread.
Unforch we don't have any chairs or tables left to sit on as Alex moved out about ten months ago leaving me wailing on one sofa cushion in a three story desert of smudged cream.
So we made a fort. Very Enid Blyton. And suitably, that kids, is the final page of 'The Adventure of Charterhouse Road'. It's been lovely having you round.
THE END
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