166. nana.

she was losing her marbles and knew it and even found aspects of it amusing to herself; stuck in reverse, heading back at the speed of light towards childhood. a mouse under the table !  motionless, & flattened with the coal shovel was in fact a mislaid spoonful of marmalade – dressed in a fortnight’s worth of fluff & miraculously overlooked by the attentions of the antique Hoover. The butcher on the phone explaining (again) that the reason the lamb cutlets had not yet been delivered was because its four in the morning & not the afternoon as she thought. The lovely lady who made boiled sweets and cakes and biscuits and “real” coffee in bone china for eleven year-olds knew that this was the beginning of the end, but laughed about it anyway, and never told us to be careful with the cups.