An Abundance of Plums

I pay too much for the plums.  I can’t be bothered to haggle.

They squat fatly in a plastic bag sweating. 

And I don’t know what to do with them. 

I bought them because I thought I ought to make a nod towards Christmas. This year there is no tree, no gifts and especially – worst of all – no children home. My eldest daughter is London-incarcerated with Covid.  I feel as if the Grinch has swept in and miserably parcelled festivities up in a big tatty sack.

We can only buy plums at this time of year. In the past I have made Nigella’s plum cake, I have bottle plum jam, I have delighted in their plump redness. This year they sit in the fridge getting high glowering at me.

But I know that in the making or the baking a little of past years abundance will seep in and colour our Christmas. That’s what getting busy does to you: makes you feel better about being redundant.

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