That is, if there’s any truth in the fact that they forget where they’ve buried nuts for the winter, so that when they find some they must be awfully pleased. The more superstitious among them may even think that a little miracle has happened every time a cache of nuts turns up when they really feel like a nibble.
In this case, I’ve spent a monumentally dull afternoon doing the next 3-monthly rota for the church readings, coffee making etc. It’s early, but I’m going away on Monday for a week – have I mentioned this? I won’t be able to blog, darlings, I’m so sorry. Well, probably not. Where my sister lives, she can’t get broadband and dial-up is awfully slow and she spends much of her working day at the computer so she rarely bothers in the evening. So, I got the rota out early, and a depressing thing it was to do. Helpers have been diminishing in number for one reason and another, and I’ve had to put my own name down 24 times for the 12 weeks, as a reader, sidesman, coffee maker, musician or flower arranger.
Anyway, as I was nearing the end and just writing an email to go with it, I realised that it was coming up to 6 o’clock: ie time for a drink. I also realised that wine would not suffice. I wanted gin. I remembered using the last of the ice. Yes, I buy ice. Slap my wrist and call me extravagant and I will not care (unless the slap is very hard, in which case I will remove myself; I will not retaliate).
At about this time, Dave emailed me, so I remarked on just this sad situation. He wondered why I don’t keep gin in the freezer (for a non-drinker, he’s very astute and will make a good woman very happy one day). No, I hardly ever drink it, so it’s not chilled. I mentioned, however, that the Sage has, sagaciously, bought steak. Pity I don’t have any chips, I remarked.
Reader, I married him.
Ah no, forget that, that’s a line from a book.
No, I was driven on a whim (’twas a whim that made us build a wall) to look in the other freezer. The big chest one in the porch. And there was a half-used bag of ice that I’d forgotten I had. It smelled ever so slightly fishy, but nothing that gin wouldn’t cure. I went and put a good slug of it in a glass, added lots of ice and topped up with grapefruit juice, took a swig, and then decided to try my luck. I went back to the freezer, moved a box of big raw prawns and there was a bag of oven chips.
The superstitious might think that I was rewarded for being good and dutiful this afternoon, and doing the rota a fortnight early. I simply credit my bad memory but good instinct. I’d like it to be a little miracle, however, because it would indicate that Jesus approves of gin. I knew about the wine, but Mother’s Ruin would be no end of a bonus.