Very near my current office (and regrettably far from my new office) is the stupendously fabulous Mrs Kibble's Sweet Shop.
Picture, if you will, the sweet shop that would feature in a period drama, or in a Disney film. It's a tiny shop, not big enough to swing even the tiniest of cats, and the windows and walls are lined with jars filled with the sweets of my youth.
I have told you before about my dirty liquorice comfit habit, and it's Mrs Kibble who is my dealer. I'm there regularly. It's getting embarrassing.
Today, I went to get some sweets for a friend. I don't say a "a friend" meaning "me". I really mean they were for a friend. Really ... I do. Oh, what's the point! Anyway, whilst there, I noticed some bags under the counter of cinder toffee.
Oh, sweet heaven! A cellophane baggie full of delicious reminiscences! What joy! It was divine. Nom, nom, nom!
But here's the best bit. In an email exchange with the very gorgeous Baglady I mentioned my purchase, and she made me this promise ...
If I will learn to make cinder toffee, she will leave Mr Manbag, and marry me!
Dearest reader, I am happy to confirm that I have accepted. I'm hoping for a jelly ring on my finger any day now!
2 weeks ago