If you follow these small works of mine regularly you will have picked up various snippets of family life in the Alfie household.
The most recent of these that I divulged to you was, of course, the Great Wedding almost 3 months ago. At that event on Saint David’s Day my younger daughter, Carla, carefully selected the correct Dave from a church full of other males of that name and they now live in wedded bliss in Essex, pursuing their shared interests of working long hours to pay the mortgage and baking cakes.
Everybody, however, needs a holiday (I must try it myself sometime) and for this latest long weekend they decided to revisit one of Carla’s old haunts – the city of Manchester where she did her Master’s degree. They were staying with one of Carla’s bridesmaids – who has a flat in the city – for a couple of nights.
For a journey from Witham to Manchester, our home in Peterborough makes a handy stopping-off place and I thought of the idea for this piece when we saw the pair of them on their way “up north”.
However, to make it a true contrived story, rather than a fictional one, I had to wait for the return visit today to ask Carla a question.
“Before you left this morning” I asked, “did you make any of your little cakes for your friends?”
As anticipated she replied “No. Why would I?”
At that point I gave the answer that made most of my own dear family chase me out of the house with threats of physical violence – which tells you, my loyal readers that a terrific pun is about to happen!
Readers of a nervous disposition should look away now.
“Well” I informed her, “what else would you do on a MANC HOLIDAY BUNDAY?”
And you should know me well enough by now to realise that under no circumstances will any apology be forthcoming for THAT!