Jean Ure - Fruit and Nutcase

Well, we got in and first thing we know is old Misery Guts is there waiting for us, hiding behind the door. All in one breath she says, “Mrs-Small-I-really-must-complain-about-the-state-of-the-bathroom-it-looks-as-if-a-bomb-has-hit-it.” To which Mum chirps, “We should be so lucky!” and goes racing up the stairs two at a time with me giggling behind her.

The reason the bathroom looked as if a bomb had hit it was that the hot water thingie had blown up when Dad was running his bath. The hot water thingie looks like an ancient monument.

Before you can get any hot water out of it you have to move lots of little levers and turn on lots of taps and then light a match. I’m not allowed to touch it in case I blow myself up. Half the wall is down, now.

“That Misery Guts,” panted Mum, as we pounded up the stairs to our own floor. “A pity it couldn’t have blown up when she was in there!”

“In the bath,” I said. “All naked.”

Sometimes old Misery Guts makes Mum’s life a real pain, but we just laughed about her that day. Mum was in a really giggly sort of mood. She turned the oven on, to heat it up for Dad’s pie, and we had a cup of tea and watched a bit of telly, and then Mum put the pie in and I laid the table and we got the bread out for toasting.

“Let’s do some thing special,” said Mum. “Let’s cut the toast into funny shapes. We’ll cut one into a Misery Guts shape and see if your dad can guess who it is!”

So that was what we did. We made a Misery Guts shape and an old Sourpuss shape, and Mum made Nan and Grandy shapes, and I made Tracey Bigg and Miss Foster shapes, and then we just went mad and made any old shapes that took our fancy. Shapes with big heads, and shapes with big feet, and shapes with big bums. Fat shapes, skinny shapes. Tall shapes, short shapes. Shapes of all kinds!

We ended up with way too much toast!

“We’ve used up the whole loaf!” said Mum.

But we just giggled about it, ‘cos that was the sort of mood we were in.

Dad got in at five o’clock. He swung me up in his arms and said, “And how’s our Mand?”

“We’ve been making toasted teachers,” I said.

“That sounds a bit dodgy,” said Dad. “I hope they’re not for my tea?”

“Only for starters,” said Mum, proudly. She was really chuffed with her posh starters. Paté and toast! That’s what the nobs have.

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