Thursday December 23, 2004
“That’s it, then,” I said as we sat for a moment catching our breath after struggling through the crowds in the supermarket to get our perishable foodstuff.
“You said it, chooky-boots,” Graham replied, all sort of thoughtful-like.
A feeling of dread came over me. “What’s wrong? Don’t say we’ve forgotten something…”
“Oh, no. I was just wondering what that woman was going to do with all that bread.”
He was looking at an extremely bulky, red-faced woman, pushing a giant-sized trolley stuffed to overflowing with nothing but loaves of white, sliced bread and making very heavy work of it.
“Perhaps she’s going to spend Christmas feeding the ducks on the pond.”
Graham snorted. “If she feeds ’em that lot they’ll sink.”
“You may be right. It’d read like an Agatha Christie title, wouldn’t it.”
“You know. ‘Murder by Bread’.”
“Ah. That’s quite good.”
“Thank you. Can we go home now?”
“Yes. Let’s go home.”
About half-way there I remarked: “No, there’s a better one than ‘Murder by Bread’.”
“What’s that, then?”
“Ten Little Ducklings.”
“I prefer ‘Murder by Bread’.”
“You’re just a fool for food, that’s your trouble.”
“Yup. What shall we have for lunch?”
Living room, with Christmas tree
And that wraps up all our Christmas shopping for another year. Apart from the wrapping, that is, and the placement of the pressies under the Christmas tree. That can wait for tomorrow, when we’ll be staying home, cleaning and tidying up ready for the holiday. One of my main tidying tasks will be catching up with email and blog reading, both of which have suffered greatly in the run-up to Christmas. As have my feet.