Anti-climax

IT’S ALL a bit anti-climatic in the end. The weather clears up at our end, so we set too to prepare the meal for the dinner party. But then, about lunchtime, we get the call: Ellie and Ged feel they can’t risk coming after all. The roads around them are already like ice rinks, and more foul weather is predicted for the evening. So there we have it: starter and dessert made, new potatoes par-boiled and ready for the sauté pan – and all in quantities for four people. It’s all rather deflating, really. My Good Lady and I make a meal of it as best we can, but we can’t manage double portions; but after all the planning and shopping, of all the mixing and blitzing and cooking, we end up feeling somewhat let down – not so much by our friends as by the wretched weather. We pop along for an hour’s consolation at the Pub and some of the gang in the Geriatrics’ Corner, on learning of our efforts, suggest that we should have brought some of this food in. Thick crab soup, cherry cheesecake… “M’m,” says Little B, smacking his lips. Ah, well, maybe next time…