Mr Grigg had a bad night last night. He was tossing and turning as if he were on a spit. This morning, at breakfast, he told me he'd been having a nightmare.
'This is going to sound really weird...' he said, as I slurped my tea. 'But I dreamed I had a Cornish pasty stuck up my bottom.'
There was an interlude while he mopped up the PG Tips I spat all over him.
'Do you want me to tell you more?' he said. 'Or do you want to finish your Weetabix?'
I needed to know what happened next.
Once the Weetabix was safely down my gullet, he said: 'Well, I went to the doctor's, and I was in this kind of medical centre common room and there were lots of other doctors there. My doctor saw me and asked me what was wrong. I was really embarrassed and I whispered to him about the pasty. "Oh," the doctor said, in a loud voice, "I've had one of those up my own bottom for the past 18 months".
At this point, I was trying to get the jam out of the jar for my toast but Mr Grigg almost ended up wearing it.
He went on: 'So I didn't hang around - if he couldn't get his own out, what chance did I have? So I tried to get it out and it took ages. It really hurt. And do you know why it hurt so much?'
No, I didn't have a clue but I could imagine a pasty up the jacksy could be a tad painful, even in a dream.
Completely straight-faced, he said:'Well, it was a Ginsters pasty, and they're square.'
I frowned. 'Was this really a dream or were you just telling me a joke?'
'No, no,' he said very earnestly. 'I dreamt it, honestly.'
I'm not a Ginsters expert but I don't think their pasties are square. I'm sure they're very nice but, in all honesty, after Mr Grigg's dream I don't think I will be trying one to find out. In this household, it could be tempting fate. But it's one way of keeping your pasty warm I suppose.
Breakfast over, I kissed Mr Grigg on the forehead, patted his bottom and went out in the garden to collapse in a heap.
That's about it
Love Maddie x
PS I've just been given a Lemonade Award for stopping by and reading Maternal Tales' blog. So I'd like to pass it on to Pondside for her always interesting comments. How else would I have ever learned that in Canada the name for a strimmer is a weed wacker?
The Beetle’s trundled more than eighteen hundred miles across Italy and France, with cars and lorries tooting both in frustration (it takes...
They say that good things come in threes... Well, two good things have just happened to me, writing-wise. There's a feature about my...
Once upon a time, a long time ago, I was a child in a meadow with a woodland circle of beech trees around me. And there was clover growing i...
We slipped out of the hallway, Martha the dog and me, edging past baskets of logs, boxes of things for a village event, a dog crate and musi...
They say you should never go back. But I did at the weekend, going back to where my grandfather was born in 1891 and where, in 19...