Called to the Bar?

Hello and welcome to another Saturday Story; chapter 5 in the continuing adventures of Erin and Mrs H as they come to terms with life amidst social distancing, shortages of beans and toilet paper and panic buying.

 

This week they are battling boredom!

 

Chapter 5: Called to the Bar?

"I'm bored."

"No your not, dear."

"I am."

"No, you're not. You can't be.

"I am too. I feel it; that sort of restless prickly sensation."

"That could be the kitchen scourers and washing-up brush you're sitting on. If you move to the left – your left, there are some new thick bath sponges I got from Mrs Singh. Guaranteed shred proof; but please do not take that as a commission to prove them wrong!" Mrs H had been shopping early that morning and caught up on some much-needed shopping essentials. Mrs Singh had been kind enough to pre-pack the items and then seal the shopping bags, so all Mrs H had to do was use her contactless payment card, then take the bag and leave.

Erin walked over to the sponges, and after prodding with her paw, some careful body placement and more than a bit of wobbling from to and fro managed to settle herself down. A few minutes later, however, she was not so happy.

"Nope, it's no good, now I feel bored AND seasick, or maybe that should be freshwatersick? Maybe I'm spongesick!"

Mrs Hudson looked up from her Wireless Times magazine, in which she'd be circling the radio programs she wanted to listen to, and then sighed. "Now, as there is no water nearby – none except the washing up bowl, which you never go near, you can hardly be fresh or saltwater sick, Erin. It's just in your imagination. Maybe if you sit on something solid?"

"Maybe if I ate something the boredom would go away. What do you think?" Erin said, sat looking at her tummy and gently prodding it. "I could squeeze another meal in, a small one wouldn't hurt."

"Boredom has nothing to do with your tummy. It's a slippery slope to think that."

"So, is that a no to a light snack before our midmorning break?" Erin asked with more optimism than was due.

"Yes, that's a no. And to be fair, it's only 8am, and you just ate. The hunger, like the boredom, is just in your imagination."

So it's my imagination that's bored then?" Erin asked, seeing an opportunity for a snack. "Maybe my imagination hasn't had it's breakfast yet? Yes, I bet that's it. Mrs H, can my imagination have breakfast please: runny egg and soldiers, followed by half-fat cream nip frappe."

"Glad to see your imagination is health-conscious, Erin. I shall see if my imagination is up to it, after all, she has been busy too, planning lunch and scheduling some exercises." Mrs H paused momentarily, index and middle fingers touching her temples, and eyes shut. "No," she said, snapping her eyes open again, "apparently my imagination says breakfast service is now finished. She suggests that your imagination needs some exercise to stop it from being bored."

"Exercise Mrs H, that sounds like hard work, and after all, I have just had my breakfast. But what sort of exercise did you have in mind?" Erin gave Mrs H a sideways look. Mrs H's ideas, to Erin at least, seemed to involve her doing all the activity and Mrs H merely directing.

"Nothing much, really. Well not to start with anyhow. Like all good things, first, we have to study, then we do."

"I knew there'd be a catch – homework. This 'good' thing is going to be calculating the number of squeezes of washing up liquid in a bottle – the hard way, one bowl of washing at a time. Or maybe the number of broom strokes to clean the floor?"

"But you did enjoy those games though. Especially the making shapes out of the laundered sheets. Triangles, squares and rectangles all nice and neatly created with 90-degree corners."

"Oh yes, I really liked making the pyramid shapes underneath," Erin butted in.

"Oh, my those were fun games, and most practical too." Mrs H smiled, remembering how they'd made a game of some of the household chores and actually got the tasks done quicker. There was always a reward at the end of it, and both slept well each night. 

Erin pondered a moment, then her curiosity got too much. "OK, so what do you have in mind?"

"Nothing at all arduous as it happens. In fact, a lot of sitting down and watching the internet. Then once we have done that we can have even more fun."

"OK, so long as my imagination and I get an early lunch, then I'm in. No chance of popcorn is there?"

Mrs H's frown was the only answer Erin needed. Popcorn, she had frequently advised her, was all excess calories. And very messy, especially the way Erin played with her food which meant Mrs H was vacuuming up popcorn from under the sofas for weeks after. 

Two hours later. . . . .

With the curtains drawn and the study's lights dimmed – to give the effect of a cinema – the two settled down to watch a comedy play from the National Theatre, that was being screened free of charge on YouTube. The was even an intermission in which Mrs H donned a small waitress hat and came round offering small trays of treats, paper cups of tea, and some excellent feline sandwiches with the crusts cut off. By the end of the performance, Erin and Mrs H were weary from laughter. But not so tired that as the curtain came down, they applauded loudly, whistled, and gave a standing ovation. Erin's call for an encore meant Mrs H had to rewind the video feed, but it just added to the fun.

"Well," Erin professed, as Mrs H pulled a black towel over the computer screen to mimic the curtain falling. "THAT was the best piece of homework I have ever done. I feel all 'cultured up'."

Mrs H smiled. "I thought you'd like that. Comedy lifts the heart and makes the time fly by. Now, hows about a little exercise to round the day off? If we'd travelled to London to see that play live at the National Theatre, we'd be able to walk back along the south bank of the River Thames and then to the train station."

"You're not suggesting we go down to the village stream, are you, Mrs H?" Erin was most concerned as at this time of year the geese were out and were likely to try and chase her.

"No dear. Nothing like that, especially as we need to be social distancing and that would count as an unnecessary journey. No, what I have in mind means that we just need to stop at home and do a tour around the palace. If you would like to take a break and have a clean up and then a nap – maybe for an hour – then we can begin."

Wondering what on earth Mrs H had planned, Erin agreed to meet by the front door in an hour and thirty minutes. From there they would begin the next part of the day's entertainment.

Ninety minutes later. . . . .

"Now, if you'll follow me, and do keep your eyes open."

"What for? There better not be any geese around. It's one thing feeling peckish but being pecked by a Canadian goose is NOT on my list of must-have things for a Saturday afternoon. And aren't Canadians supposed to be very polite?"

"Canadians are polite, dear, but geese do not fall into the same sphere as humans. They see felines and humans as predators and threats. No, what I want you to look out for is anything unusual in the grounds. The more things you spot, the more points you get. My only clue is that they will be related to either the play, a trip to London, or the flora and fauna of our land and the current season. There are three bonus items too, so be extra vigilant. And the more points you get, the more things you get to choose. Like what to have for supper, or what to listen to on the radio. Or what book you'd like me to read to you." 

"And what treats to have?" Erin was beginning to like this new sort of game very much. Treats would be topping on the cake, though Mrs H always metered out treats as they were very fattening."

"If you spot everything unusual, then yes, there may well be a treat or two in store." Mrs H winked but would expand no more on the matter of prizes. Buoyed with the prospect of treats, as well as the many other items offered as rewards for spotting things, Erin set off around the palace grounds. There was, however, one caveat: Erin could not just blurt out anything she saw. Wrong guesses would mean a point taken away and given to Mrs H. 

"So if you aren't careful with your choices, and don't consider whether something is or is not unusual, you may end up owing me a penalty. The range of penalties includes: cleaning the silver, dusting, washing up, and letting me pick the evenings entertainment. The more points you lose, the more time off from doing chores I get." Mrs H gave Erin a knowing smile and a raised eyebrow which usually meant she was serious.

The rest of the afternoon was spent outdoors looking around and under hedges and in the plant borders. Erin even looked at the palace itself and was rewarded by finding the three bonus items: a wheelbarrow on the parapet, a sock on the weather vane, and some cutlery dancing across an upper window. For those three Erin was awarded a small treat there and then. Mrs H had, with the help of old Ned the gardener, placed cardboard cutouts, pictures and various other items around the gardens. There were likenesses of buildings that would be seen when walking along the River Thames. Of course, the trick was to spot items that would NOT be found on the Thames. 

In her eagerness, Erin initially said many things were out of place. She had pointed out the sparrows that should have flown off when they saw her but didn't. As a result, she lost quite a few points, and Mrs H took the lead. But she soon learned to think back to the play, her history, geography and natural history lessons to find out what was actually out of place. A colour image of a kookaburra – clipped out of the National Geographer Magazine almost had Erin fooled. Then she realized that it wasn't a Kingfisher, a native UK species, and managed to get her final point of the day. 

"Go on Mrs H, tell me how many points I got." Erin pleaded as they sat down for a well-earned cup of tea a short while later. 

"I am pleased to say, dear, that you did very well. Though you didn't get all the differences. Your biggest mistake was thinking the kangaroo was a hare. they may both have big ears, but there is a substantial height difference. Saying that it was up a tree was not going to wash. And thinking the leaning Tower of Piza was the Post Office Tower was quite adrift of the mark. Even on the bright pollution-free days that we now have, Italy is too far to see. Another clue would have been the fact that the Post Office Tower doesn't lean, well the real one doesn't. I think Ned may have stuck that picture in askew. 

Mrs H smiled most warmly at Erin, pleased that they had achieved so much. "That aside, I believe congratulations are in order. Your prize is that you get to pick tonights movie. I, however, get to pick supper."

"Brilliant. Just so long as it's not cabbage and mashed potato themed, again!"

"I can absolutely assure you that there is NO cabbage involved. Potatoes in the form of crisps, yes, and I am of a mind that a nice cheese dip – low fat, would go well too. Accompanied by a nice fresh salad and fresh salmon."

Erin was delighted with her prize and even helped with the washing up afterwards.

The following day, Mrs H had another surprise in store, and insisted they both smarten up and meet at the study door after lunch for a very special on-screen presentation of. . . .

"A ballet, Mrs H. Wow, I have always wanted to see Swan Lake." Erin was not keen on swans for the same reason as she disliked geese. But, unlike geese, swans were far more elegant, and she loved to watch them float regally down the river throughout the summer days. 

"I thought you would, though alas this week they are not showing Swan Lake. The National Ballet of New Zealand is presenting a broadcast of a live recording of Hansel and Gretel. If you recall, that's the story with all the cake and biscuits in it."

Erin's eyes rolled with delight at the thought of a gingerbread and candy house. Come the designated hour, this time it was a matinee performance, the two arrived at the study door. Inside, an orchestra could be heard warming up. Mrs H dimmed the lights, and the pair settled into their seats to watch a full two-hour performance of a great tale. Come then end, Erin and Mrs H once more rose to their feet and applauded the dancers who appeared to take a bow.

"Wow, that was wonderful, Mrs H, wonderful. They are true athletes as well as performers. Each one could be a feline for they had the grace stamina and poise. I feel in awe and weary just watching them."

"I thought you'd like that one. There are many other organizations out there sharing plays and ballets. All for free, though you can give them a donation to keep them going till after this crisis is over. Had it not been for the crisis," Mrs H continued, "I'd have taken you to the Much Deeping–Hollow cinema where they screen live performances."

"What about today's homework, though?" Erin asked, concerned that this could not be considered anything other than a delightful afternoon of entertainment. "There has to be a downside to this surely, maybe some sort of test as to ingredients for gingerbread?"

"No dear, noting quite as mundane. Though that would be a good idea for another day. No, later on we will reconvene in the palace gymnasium, or the playroom as you like to call it."

After a deliberately light afternoon tea, Erin sat waiting for Mrs H by the playroom door. She noticed on arrival that the door had a sign tacked to it that said 'Dance room, soft shoes only.'

At the chiming of the hour on the hall clock, the 'Danceroom' doors swung open and there stood Mrs H. 

"Welcome, dear. I hope you are ready for a little piece of gingerbread magic?" She smiled, and swung her bare arm inwards and invited Erin to enter the transformed room. Where there once she would have seen shelves of nicknacks, and boxes of toys, there were now rows of mirrors. Placed in front were two wall to wall wooden handrails, one set at 42 inches from the floor and the other, 12 inches.

But it wasn't the barre, to give it the proper spelling, or the mirrors or the mats on the rooms polished wooden floor that was the most surprising feature of the room, it was Mrs H herself. Gone were the drab housekeeper's items of uniform, instead were the clothes and dance shoes of a teacher. Pale pink tights and dance slippers and a black leotard now adorned Mrs H's seldom-seen figure. The one thing unchanged, Erin was pleased to note, was Mrs H's unruly hair was still secured in a lop-sided bun.

"Now, as you found the ballet so exhilarating, Erin, I thought we would do a little workout. And then, all being well over the coming weeks, we can maybe work up to a little performance of our own. How's that sound?"

Erin was initially flabbergasted. Speechless in fact, though once her jaw closed and she thought about it, the more she 'relished the chance to dance'. "I think that sounds brilliant. Will you be the wicked witch and me Grettel?"

"I think that is a grand idea. Though alas I could not get Ned to be Hansel. He did say that in his day he had a few good moves of his own. Alas, since the incident with Jumbo, his back isn't up to a 'sauté'. Well not unless it's in a frying pan!" 

Erin didn't realize that 'sauté' referred to a jump. Instead, she had images of Mrs H twirling around with a hot frying pan full of sausages, fried egg and mushrooms; none of which she could recall from the ballet.

Having explained some of the terms of ballet, including 'saute' Mrs H took them through some stretching exercises to warm the muscles and calm and focus the mind. Then, with some background music playing, she demonstrated what she had learned as a girl. As she progressed she picked up the pace, and towards the end, it transitioned from warm-up into dance proper. 

Erin clapped in awe. There was far more to Mrs H's skill than just cleaning; though she began to understand how she could move so quickly when she worked and could pop up here and there without a sound. 

"That, my dear Erin, is what we can achieve, even when rusty. I have to say it is wonderful to be back at the barre. Ned did a great job installing it, them, for us. But what we need to do now is just have fun. The workout we will get is the actual work bit of this. The treat will be having more energy and vitality and to sleep in longer and better in the mornings." Mrs H blew a curl of hair that flopped over her forehead and now dangled before her left eye.

"So no actual treat then, or points and prizes?" Erin asked, a little disappointed by lack of something tangible at the end.

"Oh, there is. For one, the more energy we expend here, the more we get to eat. Calories burned here mean we can have more for supper. More of your favourites too, like salmon and chicken. Plus I shall award points for style and progress. The better we do, and you note I include myself in that, the more we get at the end. Most of all, the fitter we stay. The village dance mistress, Miss O' Fling, has said she will do a one-off exam for us, from afar, in the village hall. There we will have to give a small performance. Certificates will be awarded and medals given. But not before we have got to a certain level. Now, how does that sound?"

Erin liked the sound of the medal, and a certificate was always welcome on the study wall. Best of all, was the keep-fit angle. ANYTHING that meant she could get to eat more chicken or salmon and didn't involve real-life geese or swans was good for her.

The End. . . . . for this week :)

Stay well, and happy.

The Shopping List . . .

Testing, testing, 1 2 3. Testing. . . . Ah-ha there you are! Welcome to our new post, which as some of you will note, is NOT attached to the Sunday Selfies. In fact, it's the Saturday NOT selfies. Well, it would be if there was such a thing.

OK, the reason we are here today, Saturday, is that Mrs H hasn't been able to take any pictures of me this week. Which sort of leaves us up the proverbial gum tree without a kookaburra – or some such phrase. Anyway, as penance, I left her to sort out our supplies of food and tissue paper and wandered off to find useful things to do.

Thirty minutes later, and with no mice to be found, or food to eat, or toilet roll to shred – we're saving the nation's supplies – I decided to fill the large gap by writing a short story.

Now a lot of folks don't have time for our longer tales, so I decided we'll post this on Saturday instead of Sunday. That way you can all enjoy a bottle of sparkling vino with your curry, read the story and still get to church on time the following day. Well, a virtual church that is, where you can attend in dressing gowns, nighties and beard stubble – not necessarily on the same person! 😊

So without further ado, here is the fourth part to our Lock Down adventure. This week's episode is called 'The Shopping List'.



"Finally. There you go, Mrs H, I've done this week's shopping list for you." Erin said one evening, sat in her favourite fireside chair and surrounded by multiple screwed up attempts at the Palace's weekly shopping list.


Mrs Hudson lowered her glasses and looked over from the sewing table where she sat. She'd been crocheting mittens for the kitten orphanage in the neighbouring town of Much Deeping-Hollow. Currently, she had a set of four lined up on the table ready for a final inspection and then the adding of little strings that linked each pair – so they didn't lose them.


"Well that is kind of you, dear, I shall be over in a second. Or maybe you could read it out for me?"


"Oh, ok. Let me see," Erin paused momentarily and then enquired. "Do you want it alphabetically?"


"If you like, thank you." Mrs H smiled. Erin had been taking her education seriously of late, 
especially with the forced distancing from other cats and humans in the village. Home-schooling had become their daily morning activity and had expanded to include subjects like Menu Planning, Orienteering, and Route planning. It was in the last subject Erin had taken a particular interest and was now focusing on timing Mrs H's weekly shopping trips. She had, she informed Mrs H, one morning over her runny egg and soldiers, a scheme that she believed could shave many minutes off the weekly shop. All via some careful rerouting to, inside and from Mrs Singh's non-corner, corner shop.


A few moments passed while Erin rewrote her list. Then, having cleared throat, she started. "A,  C,  Divine,  Ewww!,  Finger-licking-great,  H,  Itchy,  J,  Nice,  Nonstarter,  Pongy,  Sticky,  U,  Wiffy,  Yucky and last but not least, Yummy." Erin looked delighted with herself. "And that's the list. Logical when you look at it. Plus I reckon by following your nose you should be able to get straight to where everything is and save valuable seconds in the store. What do you think?"


Mrs H nodded sagely and smiled while pondering her answer. She also had a sudden urge to forego the usual cocoa and opt for a double sherry instead that evening, as it was likely to be a long one! "Well, I have to say that all sounds fairly economical, but I am at a loss as to what each item could be? I think you best explain what it all means?"


"Of course," Erin continued, "Divine is for cream, so that follows C. Do you see, Mrs H?" Mrs H nodded but kept quiet.


"Next comes Ewww! That's for baked beans. Finger-licking-great is for those pieces of southern fried chicken you get from deli-counter. Itchy is the rice you spill that gets under my paws. Nice is for those nice mouse kebabs. Nonstarter is for those cream crackers you insist we have with the cheese. Pongy is for the sardines, and your pasta is Sticky, while that chilli is Wiffy. Brussels sprouts are undoubtedly Yucky, and finally, Cheddar cheese is Yummy."


"A rather impressive piece of reasoning, Erin, though I think that you may have failed to factor in one important thing."


"Oh, what's that?" Erin looked disappointed that her planning had missed something, and as a result had not received the support she'd hoped for. On top of that, it looked like she'd now have to ask Mrs H to buy another new notepad and some Tipex!


"Well, dear, the one key thing is to remember that we don't all have the same taste. Whether it be music, hobbies, lifestyle, or as in this case, food, we all sense things differently. For example, I do like Brussels sprouts, so those would be Yummy on my list. And the mice kebabs are definitely Ewww! in my book. Sadly, as a result, I do think it will all get very confusing. And I can't imagine Mrs Singh will be able to keep up with the signage changes needed to describe the olfactory preferences of each customer." Mrs H held up her hand to forestall Erin's question about what a factory had to do with anything. "And before you ask, olfactory means the sense of smell. Nothing to do with musty, damp old warehouses."


Mrs H paused to watch Erin mentally digest what she had said and then continued. "But what about all the single letters? I couldn't help but notice that you haven't given a sensory explanation for them?"


"Oh, that's easy, they're the tins of spaghetti!"


"I don't understand. Why spaghetti, and why so many different letters?" Mrs H mentally checked off the different brands of spaghetti she bought, and Erin's reaction to the different smells and tastes, but still couldn't see the connection to the letters.


Erin smiled at having finally outwitted Mrs H, who usually was never short of a correct answer, or know where to find it. "I thought if we bought another five tins of spaghetti – alphabet spaghetti – I'd be able to find the last five letters I'm missing from my collection. For some reason, I just haven't been able to find the letters A, C, H, J and U. Let me tell you, supper time has been more frustrating than playing Scrabble when I get all the continents!"


"That'll be consonants," Mrs H corrected; but didn't want to linger on the subject as Erin always got in a huff due to not being allowed to use her variation of spellings. "How about we just redo the list for speed rather than smell and taste? That way, your work isn't totally wasted. And with any luck, I can shave a few seconds off tomorrows shop."


Erin smiled. Pleased to have something to do, she set about drafting a revised list based on the layout of Mrs Singh's shop.


****


8.00 AM the following day, Erin clicked the stopwatch and waved Mrs H off on the first leg of the weekly shop. It had turned out to be far easier to redo the list for speed, than smell and taste. Erin now felt confident that with the changes to the route to the shop via farmer Heap's field, and changes to the path around the store, the time could be trimmed by a whole ten minutes. All she had to do now was wait. With any luck, in approximately 1 hour 32 mins and 54 seconds, Mrs H would come cycling full pelt down the home straight (aka the drive) with panniers full of food.


By 10 AM Erin was getting concerned. 

By 11 AM she was wondering if maybe she should telephone the RAC (Royal Automobile Club) of which Mrs H was a member, to see if she had broken down and needed a tow home.


By midday, Erin was hungry. The one thing worse than not having lunch, she thought to herself, was not having a friendly housekeeper there to make it. It was clear something had to be done, and fast, else she'd run the risk of missing her supper too! She trotted into the hall and was about to make a call to the police when she heard the sound of a tractor pulling up the drive. Shortly after the muffled sounds of voices could be heard, and then the tractor departed. A short silence was followed by slow and weary footsteps crunching across the gravel drive. After a long sigh, the front door creaked open, and a dishevelled, mud-stained Mrs H staggered into the hall.


"Ye gads!" Erin exclaimed as she studied the figure before her. "Mrs H, is that you? What happened?


Mrs Hudson dropped the shopping bags on the floor, stretched her back, and looked resignedly at Erin. "Well, it was all going rather well until that Satnav route of yours took me through the farmyard. I do declare these farmers should signpost the muck piles and slurry ponds. Farmer Heap was rather good about it all, and once the bicycle and I had been pulled out and hosed off, we shared a nice cup of tea. Quite therapeutic, I must say. He then gave me a lift into the village on the back of his trailer, and then a lift home again."


"Hmm, I don't suppose my route around the shop worked, did it? I mean we can't count the times to and from the store, but what about inside. Did we save any time there?"


"I have to say I was going to try your route but decided against it. One must remember, Erin, that besides having different tastes in food, we are also different sizes. Me running over, under and through small spaces in Mrs Singh's shelving really wouldn't work."


Erin frowned. Another failure to add to the growing list of failures. At this rate, she'd never get the Girl Guides' 'Route-Finder' badge.


"But," Mrs H continued, "I did manage to knock a whole fifteen minutes off the time inside the store. In fact, allowing for the length of the queue outside the store, I knocked a whole forty-five minutes off the time. Not bad considering." Mrs H's pleasure was quite evident in her broad smile. This smile was accentuated by mud stains that lingered around her mouth and eyes, giving her a sort of 'muddy clown' look.


"But how?" Erin asked, at a loss as to how so much time could have been saved. Whilst it was true she'd forgotten to factor in the time that everyone now had to spend outside queuing, village's housekeepers were sticklers for people not jumping the line. Gaining any time that way was improbable verging on impossible. 


"Well, there it seems, today at least, Brussel sprouts and I – smelly as we are – had an advantage. As soon as I joined the queue, the way ahead became clear. Suffice to say it was like the parting of the Red Sea. Mrs Singh even volunteered to get the shopping for me; I veritably flew in and was ushered out ASAP!"


"Wow, that's brilliant. No chance you could do that again next week, is there?" Erin enquired.


"No, dear, I think it will take a fortnight to get the stains and smells from these clothes." Mrs H sniffed the algae-green stained and mud-encrusted fabric of her jacket and her nose wrinkled with displeasure.


"How about we do home shopping?" Erin asked, seeing an opportunity to bulk-buy some more spaghetti. "I believe the big shop in Much Deeping-Hollow delivers. And has good prices too. I'd seen on their website that they have pasta AND toilet paper."


Mrs H smiled. "I think that, whilst we can, we should queue safely and maintaining due distance. After all, neither of us is ill or immobile. And I am certainly not of the age that I should be staying safely indoors – though after that dunking in the farmyard I do wonder. Anyway, there are others far more in need of home delivery than us. And I don't think we require more tins of pasta, or toilet paper either. Mrs Singh says she has enough of everything to go around, just so long as we all act sensibly and buy only what we need when we need it.


"So, no more spaghetti then?" Erin asked.


"No, nor toilet paper either. Not until we've distributed the stockpile in bedroom 4. The same goes for your supply of long-life cream, cheese triangles, tins of tuna, mackerel, sardines and jam in bedroom 3. Not forgetting the extra sacks of kibble in your wardrobe!" Mrs H's frown was quite pronounced, and clearly, she'd discovered the results of Erin's late-night online ordering spree on Amazon.


"You said distributed, Mrs H. Does that mean we are going to have to . . . "Erin gulped, "give it all away?"


"Not give away, but distribute to those in need, without making a profit. Mrs Singh has agreed to take anything that is surplus to our requirements and, along with other essentials from her store, make some parcels of food and household cleaning items. The Girl Guides, Boy Scouts and the WI will be distributing them."


Erin's heart sagged. She'd so wanted to complete her collection spaghetti letters, as well as her route planning badge, but now it seemed all was lost.


"I know what you're thinking, Erin, but all is not lost. Mrs Singh was so impressed with your route around her shop, she suggested using your skill to create the routes for the parcel delivery. Of course, you'd have to avoid farmer Heap's yard, the village pond, Thicket Wood and the reservoir! As to your alphabet spaghetti, Mrs Singh said once the parcels are delivered, she'll have something special for you." Mrs H gave one of her renown knowing nods, which sent a small shower of mud from her hair onto the floor.


****


The following day dawned bright and clear, and with a new sense of purpose for Erin. It had been wrong, she realised, to store so many items – items that she wouldn't get to use for many, many months after the crisis had passed, if at all. As a result, she'd forgone her usual cocoa and bedtime story, and had laboured most of the night on her new routes. The following morning, Mrs H found her in the study, asleep on a neat pile of sketched maps, each labelled with destinations, distances and times.


After breakfast, he pair cycled down to the village hall. On arrival, they helped the Vicar and Mrs Singh oversee packing the baskets of supplies, and the distribution of Erin's route plans. Some of the village's wealthier inhabitants – as well as a few of the noted hoarders, – seeing the charity of others, opened their cupboards and added to the piles of tins, packets, and frozen produce donated by Mrs Singh and some of her suppliers.


By 3 PM, all was done and dusted. And, except for one flat tyre on a Scout's bicycle that had crashed through a newly planted hawthorn hedge, and some bruises where the WI cyclist had gone too fast over the village's speed-humps, no injuries were sustained.


"My, that is quite an achievement, Mrs H, Erin," said Mrs Singh, ticking the last name on the list and closing her notepad. All jolly good. And the mysterious donor of all those toilet rolls, tins of fish, and cream; I wonder who they could be?"


"Indeed, Mrs Singh," the Reverend Prayhardy added. "I would like to shake their hand. But ours is not to wonder why at such benevolence, only to realise God works in mysterious ways – and apparently has an account with Amazon Home Shopping, too! But no good deed goes without thanks, and I know there are people in this parish and beyond that will see a proper meal tonight, along with their companions. Yes, God does indeed work wonders."


Mrs H gave Erin a very discrete wink and then turned to the Vicar. "Indeed so, Vicar. On a different note, I understand you may have something for Erin?"


"Ah, indeed I do, Mrs Hudson, indeed I do. Thank you for reminding me." The Vicar turned to face Erin and the small group of Guides, Scouts, and WI ladies that had now gathered around the table on which Erin sat. "Erin," the Vicar continued. "In recognition for your services to planning this whole day, your time and most generous donation of cheese and cat food, as head of the Scouts and Guides for the parish, I am proud to present you with not only your Route Planners badge but also your 'Event Planner' badge. And, I am pleased to award you this special feline size neckerchief – with a woggle, on which Mrs Hudson can stitch your badges."


The Vicar delved into his cassock pocket and withdrew a cat-sized folded neckerchief, a woggle, and two badges which he laid on the table before Erin. "I think three cheers are in order; Hip hip!" A resounding "Hurrah!" echoed through the hall, three times. As the applause died down, and the chattering crowd dispersed, Mrs Singh approached Erin and offered her a small parcel.


"I think wanting this you will be, Erin. A little gift from Mr Singh and me for your help. Plus, I believe it may save Mrs Hudson carrying so many of my tins of spaghetti in future. Not that I don't appreciate the business you understand." She winked at Mrs H and handed her a list of the upcoming in-store special offers. Then, having blessed Erin for her selflessness, she left to get Jumbo's feet ready for stamping out that evening's supply of pizza bases – a full 14-inch thin-crust shaped like an elephants foot.


Once home, Erin sat in her favourite chair and opened the parcel from Mrs Singh. "Wow, it's a pasta-making machine, with letter attachment! Looks like I'll get to complete my collection, after all, Mrs H."


"So it does, Erin, but you'll need to make them first. To make your own pasta and eat it is way more fun than opening a tin. There, all done." Mrs H held up Erin's neckerchief and showed off the two badges that sat neatly besides Erin's only other badge, the First Aider badge. "Now, who's for a game of Scrabble, pasta style?"


Erin didn't have to be asked twice. She knew Mrs H already had plenty of eggs and flour in the house, so the sticky part she could attend to. Making the letters was what she really wanted to do, and for once, she'd make sure there were more vowels on her plate than continents. Erin pulled herself up short. Mrs H had said they were consonants, and who was she to argue. If Mrs H said Asia, Africa and Europe were consonants, then it was all right with her. Erin made a mental note to write to the National Geographic in the morning to advise them of their typos.


 The End . . . . see you all next week to find out!