“So we have the veg covered; on to poultry, then there’s just ingredients for desserts and hmm, anything else?”
“Wine, lots of wine.”
Copious amounts of alcohol would be the only way of getting through yet another dinner party with the awful couple from across the road Angela was so bloody obsessed with. She pretended she hadn’t heard my comment, as usual. The joys of Tescos.
“So you still O.K to take the kids out later?” She asked, whilst trying to select the best from a bunch of identical apples.
“Yeah sure, I’m a bit jealous of them actually.” I remarked.
She lifted her head briefly from apple duties to give me a disapproving look.
“Why on earth would you be jealous of a bunch of teenagers thrashing around to rock music and spilling drinks all over one another?”
“Because that sounds incredible.” I replied honestly. God, I couldn’t even remember the last time I was out past midnight. I’m sure I used to have fun. Angela tutted in response,
“Right, these should do fine. Let’s head over to the baking stuff.”
“Sounds absolutely thrilling, darling.”
“You go and get the wine then, make yourself useful.” Angela ordered, in a tone that reminded me of my mother.
I trudged over to the vast alcohol isle, passing a group of lads debating whether or not they would get served for their four litre bottle of cider. Those were the days.
So did the Wilson-Jones’ prefer Italian or French red? Who cares, I thought, grabbing a decent looking £5.99 bottle. Suddenly there was a loud clunk from behind me, followed by the unmistakeable sound of glass shattering. I looked around to survey the damage.