Mary writes: Saturday dawned, bright and early. The blackbird was singing and all was idyllic in Dusty Mouldings. I made myself a cup of tea and settled down to enjoy a quiet lie-in.
Three minutes later the Werewolf (otherwise known as my dear husband) hopped out of bed and bolted down a slice of toast and a cup of builder-strength tea, before taking up his trusty big sledgehammer to demolish the garden shed. Minnie took up her trusty little sledgehammer and ran out to help him. I sighed and got out of bed.
At ten o'clock sharp James and I showed up at the church bazaar. Lizzie Higgs-Boson was there already with her kids. James wandered over to plot with Stanley. Olivia, who knows that I can't last ten minutes at the church bazaar without a cup of tea and a fruit scone, and who also knows that I am easily persuaded to buy cakes for any children who go into the tea room with me, trotted over to my side. I saw the Vicar behind the church souvenir stall. I went up to say hello and to admire the new t-shirts, with the legend: "The earth moves around the Son!" I wondered if Lieserl would like a tea towel showing the scientific martyrs.
"Mrs Dunwich, how lovely to see you!" trilled the Reverend Cheryl ("just call me Cherry!") Sconne. Why must she call me that? It makes me feel far too respectable. "I see you've brought us one of your lovely cakes. Is it a Victoria Sponge?" "Good Lord, no!" I hastened to reassure her. "It's just an apple pie. There'll be no trouble with the W. I. over this one!" My Victoria Sponge had nearly caused a diplomatic incident with the Women's Institute at the May Day Bazaar after it been found to contain twice the proper number of eggs, and a cinnamon cream filling. It had tasted delicious, but they said that that "wasn't the point". "It is not acceptable for people to take liberties with the recipe for Victoria Sponge!" said Mrs Plum-Duff in her official complaint.
The Reverend Cherry nodded thankfully and said, "Mrs Plum-Duff will be delighted! She's inside on the Cake Stall." I smiled the angelic smile of the irregular church-goer and went into the church hall.
"Hello Mary!" boomed Mrs Plum-Duff, the Supreme Grand Leader of the local branch of the Women's Institute. "Is that another of your sponge cakes?" "It's Gedeckter Apfelkuchen," I said with great dignity. Mrs Plum-Duff frowned and wrinkled her nose, but the W.I. has no rules covering foreign recipes, so she let it pass.
"Is it spicy?" she asked. "It smells of cinnamon." "It's Albert Einstein's mother's own recipe," I answered. Scientists are well thought of at St Copernicus', as presumably are their mothers. My humble offering was graciously accepted and, with a sense of relief, I shepherded Olivia on into the tea room for some sorely-needed tea and cakes.
When we came out James and Stanley were holding carrier bags bulging with goods. "What have you got there? I asked.
"We've been round the Boot Sale in the car park. We've bought materials for our project." James held out a bag for inspection. It contained a set of meccano, some tupperware boxes, a salad bowl with big serving spoons, a bag of old electrical components, a toast-rack, some bicycle gears and an umbrella.
"Well, as long as you've had fun," I said. "I just need to buy some of Mrs Lardycake's jam and then we can get off home." Mrs Lardycake's medlar jam is famous throughout Dusty Mouldings. I wish I knew where she gets the medlars from. I don't think I've ever seen one growing here. Five minutes later, feeling socially respectable and carrying bags full of jam and junk...sorry, project materials, we set off for home. A morning well spent in Dusty Mouldings.
