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!
