The pattern on the biscuits I was making this morning are a case in point, zapping me straight back to a holiday on a farm with my father.
As I rolled out my mint shortbread
biscuits in my mind’s eye I pictured the farmer’s wife in her kitchen making her biscuits. This was exactly how she was doing it. At the age I was then probably seven, how and why has this memory
stuck with me all these years?
So much of that holiday I can still remember. Spaniel puppies, eating our food in a magnificent dining room, the narrow back stairs up from the kitchen. The magnificent oak staircase. My father rescuing me in the middle of the night, sleep walking I had taken a wrong turning and was hammering on the panelling
thinking it a door!
The weirdest of girls, who she was I can’t recall, not their daughter of that I am very sure. She took the greatest pleasure in shooting sparrows and wringing any birds necks that had the misfortune to fall into her hands!
Strange the things you remember? And all because by the day I am getting fatter cooking cakes and biscuits for our builder. He is doing such a good job the investment in time is worth it. The diet will have to wait...