I’ve had a lazy day imposed on me by a bad headache, so nothing much has happened. I went back to bed after half an hour up this morning, slept the morning away and then came back down again, feeling a bit better, because I’d promised to look after the children for Dilly. However, I couldn’t do anything much, so fetched them some food and reclined on the sofa with them watching television. I know, terrible granny. We watched Horrid Henry, Ooglies, Shaun the Sheep and Scooby Doo. I remember vastly preferring cartoons to educational children’s programmes such as Blue Peter when I was a child, so I have no bad conscience about it at all. That is, it didn’t stop me reading or playing outside or doing other things, and I mostly avoided having friends anyway and lived nearly a mile from any children I did know, so wouldn’t have seen them anyway.
Dilly was going with her sister Dala (I’m going to forget what I’ve called her sisters; let it suffice that Dilly is the oldest of three and they all have the same initials) to order Dala’s wedding cake. She entered a competition in the local newspaper and won £300-worth of cake. So she booked an appointment and asked Dilly to go along as a back-up. She wasn’t at all sure that it wasn’t one of these things where you get a voucher that commits you to a big additional payout.
They found that this lady does the cakes from her home, which is full of accessories and decorations in every drawer and cupboard. She was delightful and enthusiastic and showed them everything, and then they started to design this cake on the computer. It became beautiful and elaborate and lots of things were discussed, but price was never mentioned. In the end, D & D just relaxed and went along with it and had fun. Finally, they agreed on a three-tier cake and then she checked the price. “Oh dear,” she said. “It comes to £311. Oh well, never mind, we’ll call it £300.” Delivery is included, a distance of more than 20 miles.
So, not everything is a scam and some offers aren’t too good to be true.
Anyway, about Dilly and her sisters – it so happened that their parents have the same initial letters, so they thought it would be rather jolly to use them for their children too. Of course, this meant that all three daughters’ correspondence arrived addressed to ‘Miss D L Surname’. “Wasn’t this a nuisance?” I asked Dilly once. “You never knew who should open the letters.” “Not to me,” she replied. “I was the eldest, so I assumed that all letters were addressed to me.”