My friend was driving across the country. Not just to see me, but I couldn’t wait to see her again.
In the middle of the morning, she sent a sms:
Sod Wordsworth’s daffodils, you should see the fields of sunflowers in the Free State today.
And I smiled and began to chop herbs, and sauté some tiny button mushrooms.
I crumbled some feta cheese, added the herbs and mushrooms and spooned the mixture into deboned chicken breasts. I rolled them up nice and snug and put them in a baking dish.
Then I made a sauce of tomatoes and more herbs, some garlic and chilli. I poured it over the meat and put it in the oven. I mashed eleven potatoes, the chicken would be robust; it would hold its own against the buttery mash.
Later, she fetched the sweet, sweet lad. And we ate, we laughed; we made another memory for the scrapbook.
There was wine too …