a photo by Generally Gemma on Flickr.
Good Friday – and what am I doing? Making enough bloody buns to feed the five thousand.
Making hot cross buns is not easy, all that kneading and waiting for the dough to rise and faffing about with flour – I looked like something from a horror film by the end of it. And the kitchen? Well, let’s not even go there…
Anyway, by the afternoon I had over 30 buns to lug over to my parents’ for the annual Hot Cross gathering, which most of my rather large family attend. This is a responsibility I have inherited from my Dad, who now says his arms are too “knackered” to undertake all the “sodding about” involved.
As soon as I arrived I planted the plate in front of him for his approval
He took a bite out of my endeavours and wiped his lips as I waited in anticipation.
“Not bad..” He grunted ” Not bad at all”
My ruined fingernails and smashed bowl (in temper) seemed almost worth it….
What followed next was another Hot Cross Day tradition. A Dad story…
“I remember one hot Easter” my Dad began to the packed room, “when I was a lad working in a residential home and we took some of the residents to the beach. My boss at the time, Mrs Martin (a great big whale of a woman), plonked herself down next to me and started getting changed into her swimming costume.”
My Dad paused here, grinning at the memory
“She tried to hide herself behind a towel, but it didn’t work and suddenly I found I had her a**e sticking right in my face.”
We all laughed at the point thinking that was the end of it but my father was getting quite excitable now.
“No, it wasn’t just any a**e, it was the hairiest a**e I’ve ever seen – on man or woman.”
There was another pause before he added
“It still haunts me today the thought of that hairy bottom wobbling in my face.”
Poor old Mrs Martin. I wonder if she ever did discover Immac…
