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Saturday, 2 July 2011


There's nothing left..

I got home last night absolutely knackered.
The day before I had been in school until 10:30, proof reading appallingly written reports and making corrections.
When I got home about 11, my beloved had a lovely hot bowl of a home-made spicy pumpkin soup all ready for me, together with a couple of cheese scones.  Ambrosia. 
Now while my beloved is a great cook and a superb baker, she doesn't often bake, as my son and I have a predilection for eating everything at odd, yet inopportune moments.
So I asked why she had baked.
I was told:

A. I just didn't listen.
B. The Aunties from the local Marae (Maori meeting house) were coming around tomorrow for soup, scones and cakes.
C. I just didn't listen.

Never mind, there would be plenty left over for tomorrow evening.  There were piles of scones and trays of delicate fairy cakes, which would remain as my beloved had already knocked me on the knuckles with a large wooden spoon for attempting to "sample" a fairy cake.

So when I got home last night, I was looking forward to some treats.

All gone.

The Aunties had gone through my house like a plague of locusts, stripping everything eatable.
Scones: Gone.
Fairy Cakes: Gone.
Home-Made Succulent Chocolate Truffles: Gone

All that was left was one bowl of soup

Sometimes life's really not fair, and my bloody colleagues still cannot use semicolons correctly.  And commas, full stops, capitals and pretty bloody basic spelling.

*sob* I was so looking forward to a cheese scone, slathered with butter. *sigh*


  1. Why do I keep hearing the word ... narcistic... just me . I could be wrong,

  2. Ouch.The rap on the knuckles, forgotten how painful that was.Wince.

  3. Second Fiddle: Possibly, but what is a blog except an expression of your own personality, wants, needs hobbies, experiences and opinions. It Narcissism defined. Watch your spelling by the way.

    Northern Snippet: Thanks for dropping by, please ignore Second, he means well but....

    Yes the wooden spoon rap wasn't pleasant, but missing out on my beloved's baking was worse. Actually, my son managed to sneak a couple away later, and he shared one with me the next day. Soemtimes he makes me so very proud. He's already discovered the trick to domestic harmony is deceit, trickery and theft.

  4. 'Slathered' is the perfect descriptive word for a generous buttering of an oven hot scone isn't it.

    Now I'm yearning for a cheese scone myself.......

  5. Alistair: Oh yes. smothered and melting, dripping down the side. *stomach clenches in nervous anticipation*


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