A wee row…

See yiew Jimmie

Once upon a time, many years ago, Mr McG and I lived in London. One Sunday morning, a full complement of guests were expected for lunch and I was rushing around trying to get food on the table. Mr McG was being helpful.

The Wee Granny McSporran, down from Scotland for a few days, had taken her dog Sheila for a walk.

The atmosphere was terse but cooperative.

But when Mr McG opened the fridge door to take out some wine, the hinges sheared off, leaving the door balanced in his hand.

As he said subsequently, there is only so long you can hold a 20kg-fridge door at arm’s length…

He dropped it, and its contents mingled on the floor in a sea of broken eggs, milk, orange juice, wine and glass.

At this point the Wee Granny returned from her stroll, came to the kitchen door, took one look then turned on her heels and disappeared up to her room, without a word.

We glanced at each other, somewhat taken aback. But we didn’t have time to investigate and just got on with clearing the appalling mess.

Many hours later, the last guest having finally stumbled off into the night, the three off us were relaxing in an after-lunch afterglow.

Mr McG suddenly remembered the earlier chaos and said to the Wee G: “Didn’t you see what happened in the kitchen before lunch?” She looked perplexed. He explained.

The WG said: “Oh THAT’S what it was! I thought you’d had a wee row and that I should probably stay out of it.”

Because of course Mr McG was in the habit of hurling fridge doors at me during a domestic🤣🤣