Inflated memories of a nan

Home cooking, smell so pungent. Nostalgic even. 50’s housewife, pinafore, cooking in heels. Window open letting in a syrupy warm breeze. Carrying the smell to the neighbouring house, knock on the window. Instead of 1 there is now 3 for tea plus a toddler too. Fine china, flower patterns, gingham rag . Spuds, carrots, parsnips, thick gooey gravy. Scraps for the shaggy dog. Cat Is hovering nearby, meowing a soft familiar sound. Sniffing around the plates. SHOO! SCRAM! Claw screeching, THUD. Pleasantries said. Clinking of silver, the loudness of chewing and low level “mmm”’s. Silence. Warm kitchen, empty plates, full bellies, wide smiles. Thank you’s. Jelly and custard on the floor, “oh im so sorry, let me get that”, that gingham rag comes in useful. Cat already fighting the dog over who gets first lick, SHOO! “get ouuuut of it!!” cockney accent. Hugs and goodbyes, pinching of sweet cheeks. The washing up can wait.  Kicks of heels, AHHHH! Slips on slippers, falls helplessly onto moth eaten armchair. Silence. Cats slinks into the living room, climbs up arm chair. Snuggles onto lap. Dog sits by feet. All is quiet. Fur floating in the air. Wedding ring on an old swollen finger stroking that equally as old bony spine. Aniseed sweets, tobacco, mouldy furniture. Patch work quilt. Sweet life.