The sun had withdrawn from its daily duty. The temperature dropped and a keen breeze picked up. I went out to shuffle the cars on the driveway. An old familiar voice sang out, “Oi, Knickers!” from down the road, causing me to look up. The unmistakeable outline of Nick Matthews (yes, the infamous sculptor himself) lurched into the circle of light beneath a streetlamp. Serena and he had arrived in a vehicle that could have quite comfortably encircled the Moon.
Well, we’re a little bit older and a little bit wiser now, but from a sense of unrestrained humanity we decided to put all that aside. Claire joined the party and the five of us embarked upon the business of the evening. What was this transaction, you enquire? Hah! The research would be pointless if I could tell you that. Hard-won nuggets of knowledge should not be so lightly relinquished, I can tell you.
One thing is for certain. Caroline’s curries were the stuff of legend. I’m not sufficiently equipped to divulge recipes hereabouts, but I recommend you keep a weather eye out for the chance of a taster. Unrealistic, you may think. However, I think there may be some mileage in the addition of a new culinary division to the Turn Up empire, specifically to deal with the demand for mail order samples of particular recipes. Or maybe for a short-lived promotion. Just a mouthful, reheated with care, popped in the gob for a truly succulent experience. Bob really could become your uncle. A slogan begins to form, something about Bob a Gob week.
No comments:
Post a Comment