Yesterday I had a delivery of pies to taste for my QVC range.
Imagine my anguish when I ate one of them and realised how completely scrumptious they were.
I had a big problem.
Eat them all myself and risk bottom enlargement or send out a call to the Husseys for help.
Call I did. And they came. Caroline, Sue, Robyn and Daisy (not an official hussey - but actually a good tapestry girl - although she’d hate to admit it!) and me. Phoebe and Doddie are away on holiday (More on Phoebe soon).
Eight pies went into the Aga. Eight pies came out. Eight pies sat on a huge plate and were cut into slices. The Husseys dived in with forks in hand.
There was nothing left. Not a crumb. We couldn’t stop. We had no self-control.
It was desperate.
It was a hot day, what were we thinking?
We had no choice.
We didn’t care as we wiped crumbs from our faces, brushed back our hair, straightened our napkins and sat up and surveyed what was left from our feeding frenzy.
We behaved badly. It was liberating.
They were good pies.