… I can confirm that a week without floozying is not long enough to forget how to do it, and a jolly good time was had by all. The gent in question was particularly entranced by the tight skirt, stockings, and three-inch heels; although he may have been less excited if he’d witnessed me trying to get out of the car in them and eventually abandoning all attempts at elegance in favour of the ‘hitch it up and fling your legs out fast’ approach.
Stig’s dinner, whilst not exactly a resounding success, was edible, although it wasn’t Corned Beef Hash as we know it. She hadn’t drained the spuds very well before mashing them, and then added milk and butter to an already sloppy mixture, resulting in a dish that perhaps might have been better entitled Cheesy Corned Beef and Potato Soup. We attempted it with knife and fork at first because of course one does like to at least seem civilised – but after a few entertaining moments we resorted to spoons (one less refined member of the family apparently asked for a straw, but I couldn’t possibly comment on that).
Any-hoo, all plates were cleared, none was left for ‘Mr Manners’ (did anyone else have the spectre of Mr Manners looming over their childhood dinner table? Mr Bloody Manners was never around when I wanted to shove half my liver and onions to one side, but whenever it was sausage egg ‘n chips and I wanted to Hoover it all up and lick the plate for good measure, my mother would say ‘Now, let’s leave some for Mr Manners…!’. I bloody hated Mr Manners) and the appropriate congratulatory noises were made at Stig.
Hopefully she’s got it out of her system now and we can go back to meals that stand up on the plate instead of slopping around all over the place!