Tuesday, 6 August 2013

The Interment (first paragraph)


“You should always be kind to your mother. To be sure, she’s the only mammy you’re ever likely to be having. If you don't, now mark my words you’ll be regretting it long after she’s gone.“ My auntie Maggie’s words were resonating through my brain till it almost started smoking with the burden. I could smell my mother’s scone bread like the steam was still rising from it on the windowsill. The homemade chicken soup that she spoon fed me when I was sick and her delicious gourmet Irish stew came to mind. Mmmh!! That stew  was delicious it could... It could have adorned the table of any fancy restaurant any day of the week. No doubt they’d have  put rustic in front of it on the menu and charged twenty quid a plate for it. That Fanny Cradock would be eating her heart out. Right after she’d polished off a big bowl of me mammy’s stew of course. I knew that I’d miss that a lot — besides her good self of course but that goes without any saying. That stew was real Moorish on a winters evening and the soup was a great source of comfort if you were ever a little under the weather. As were the plasters she loving administered over major and minor wounds, the debts I couldn't pay that she bailed me out of, the hugs and kisses that were dealt out when required and the clips around the ear that whilst not welcomed, were badly needed on the rare occasions that they were felt.

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