I was very much scone hunting this morning, as I like to do of a Wednesday, when I have to collect my social welfare payment at the post office. The post office is within a shopping centre, allowing you to take your pennies and spend them unwisely all around you. I stuck to my list, and bought my expensive bleach as per advice from Lilsister and Mammy, the toilet cleaning experts, who roared with laughter when I explained that my toilet was not sparkling, despite the semi-expensive bleach I have been using. ‘You cretin,’ they screeched, ‘spend the extra forty cents and watch the toilet clean ITSELF.’
Bleach in hand, I had a quick look at the deli counter and discovered that my sandwich-relating husband search needs to be more discerning in its locations. THIS particular deli was full of large haired ladies buying fish.
To the scone counter, where I was horrified to discover only fruit (I swore when I was a child I would never eat currants, and I am proud to say I stick to that) or – gasp! – BROWN ones!!! There were no huge white ones covered in icing sugar.
Cursing at this enforced dieting, I took a brown one and came home, covered it with jam on one side and butter on the other, and inhaled it greedily. It was sufficient, but not full of joy.
I feel a little empty.