The everyday blog of Richard Bartle.
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5:27pm on Sunday, 20th December, 2009:
My elder daughter brought some fudge for us to eat over Christmas, which she bought in Bath's Christmas Market. It was the best fudge I've ever tasted: almost liquid in the middle. We had to eat it within 4 days before it reached its expiry date' mine didn't last 2 days.
The reason she bought fudge (which she doesn't really care for herself) is that my younger daughter loves it. Yesterday, a friend paid us a surprise visit (the surprise was his — we weren't in) and left us a Christmas present in a box. We had to open the box to find out who gave us the present, and inside was (among other goodies) some fudge. My younger daughter immediately claimed it. We all got one taste, and that was that. She doesn't want to try any of the other things in the box, she just wants the fudge (because "what could possibly be better than fudge?").
When I was at primary school aged 8-9, I was in Mrs Aspinall's class for maths. Mrs Aspinall was a dragon (official: the headmaster called her that when discussing her with my mother). She was a strict disciplinarian, bore a deep and lasting hatred for children, and knew next to no mathematics. However, aware of her shortcomings, she used to compensate by giving away home-made fudge to children who got full marks. Only very, very rarely did children get full marks, and when they did she handed out the fudge so reluctantly you'd think she was giving you her bone marrow. It wasn't normal, either: she put things in it, like cherries and nuts, because cherries and nuts are cheaper than fudge ingredients. Nevertheless, if you got some of Mrs Aspinall's fudge it was a trophy that you could boast about to all your friends (before eating the stuff and wondering why it tasted of chalk dust).
Mrs Aspinall died a few years ago, which was a source of great sadness for me because SHE OWED ME A PIECE OF FUDGE. I got full marks in a test and she was all out of fudge and said she'd give me some when she next made it, and she NEVER DID. I bet she ate it herself.
Gawd, I hope my younger daughter doesn't read this blog post. If she finds out that you can make fudge at home, she'll do nothing else.
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Copyright © 2009 Richard Bartle (firstname.lastname@example.org).