Monday, 9 July 2012


Chopping rhubarb is utterly, bastard exhausting but it makes a lovely noise. And produces tons of water when you cook it (this, my first time). My friends gave me some home-grown at the weekend, the smell reminded me immediately of Henry and Michael, my mother's bachelor uncles, who wore green cardigans and were smoking and coughing every time you saw them. I think Henry only had one lung (I think he had TB). They would give us wee pokey hats (made from newspaper) of sugar and we would dip in the rhubarb from their garden and it was sour-sweet, delicious, a treat we looked forward to. Am still coughing, especially when I speak, it is beyond ridiculous, and exhausting. Tonight, I ate stewed rhubarb and thought of Henry and Michael in their old green cardigans with brown buttons.

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