A mix up over pastry letters causes some custard confusion

the cows come back home.

So John is spending a few days with friends fishing in Scotland. In Selkirk and on the Tweed to be exact. I am left in charge on the farm.

Well not entirely, Geoff comes in and does all the heavy and skilled stuff with tractors. I do labouring and mundane jobs such as checking the sheep are all still standing, ducks are fed at home and on the pond, everything has plenty of water, dogs are walked, poultry fed and secure from visiting foxes at night.

Plus that the walnut tree is safe from squirrels. And note, I am still picking apples, putting them into store or cooking them down for the freezer.

There is no end to them. I shall not care if I never see another apple till next year.

One thing I am free of however is the lunch time deadline. John like many farmers prefers to have his lunch at twelve on the dot.

I acknowledge that he has been out working since six, only has a light breakfast (his choice) and by lunchtime is starving. It does mean though that most of the morning is taken up with lunchtime prep, swiftly followed by lunchtime doze. Or zizz as it is known by Jerry, one of the friends John is in Scotland with.

Jerry picked John up before the crack of dawn and packed our contributions to the weeks’ meals, various fruit pies and crumbles, plus a game pie and roast ham, with prime cuts of meat he was taking.

To clearly delineate the substance of my pies I had either written on the freezer bag or put pastry letters on the pie crust to identify what was what.

The decision was made to put everything into the freezer at the Selkirk flat before they went on the river. Leaving plenty of room for all the fish they hoped to catch.

After crawling to the phone to ring John after my first exhausting day I was told to ring later as they were just about to have their evening meal. An hour later this email pinged onto my computer.

Just had Jerry’s lamb followed by apple pie and custard. Gaily rewarming the custard having put the pie on the table. Shouts of ‘it’s not apple’ ! I said, it’ll be mince meat and apple. No, it’s meat they say!

Poirot-like investigations prove that.

A ... jerry said the pies were on the right of the freezer.

B.... I picked a pie which looked to me like it had pastry letters that said cake.

C.. Realise cake was game.

D .. You are c..p, at pastry letters! (translated as rubbish)

E.. Game pie tomorrow.

F... Had a plan b so leftover tarte tatin came in to play.

G.. We all laughed.

It looks delicious... Is the gravy to go with?? Xxx

Of course not I replied, it goes with the plum pie.