So, it’s well known amongst the family that if Rosabel can neither be seen nor heard, then she has, sans doubt, found something to eat and is happily, sneakily, munching her way through it. Often this is a banana (with skin on), an apple, an ancient biscuit (found goodness-knows where) or someone’s leftover breakfast that hasn’t quite made it back to the kitchen. Well, talking of kitchens, the kitchen in our new house has recently been undergoing a transformation from its delightfully quirky complete-with-beautiful-solid-wood-original-cupboard state into a boring and somewhat unsightly modern state. It’s not what I would have chosen, but that’s another story… Anyway, whilst the kitchen is being (slowly) morphed, we’ve had to empty its contents into the conservatory: pots, pans, cutlery, coffee-grinders, toasty-makers, rolling pins, teacups, cooling-trays, baking-trays, rice-cakes, butchers blocks, tea-towels, ladles, spatulas, whisks, peelers, baked-beans, kidney-beans, jelly-beans and the drawer of batteries, rubber bands, foreign-coins and other dad-miscellany. There was also, buried amongst these strewn kitchen innards, a large, opened bar of dark, rich, calorifically-glorious cooking chocolate.
This morning, for a brief moment, Rosabel could neither been seen nor heard…
Little Flowers 