Canny Granny

I had a terrible shock this morning. Something in my fridge is dead.

I don’t know what it is, or where. And I don’t really want to look. Besides, everything seems to have frozen and attached itself to its nearest neighbours. You know what this means, Gentle Reader, I have to take everything out and defrost the blasted contraption.

Defrosting takes determination, endurance, a strong right arm and a strong stomach. I don’t have any of those.

For the life of me I can’t understand what half of the things inside in the fridge are doing there.

Could I really have shoved three half-empty jars of laksa up the back?

What about the jar of peanut butter with lid missing, a bowl of cooked plums, last week’s bread, a tub of (frozen) butter, half a cabbage, two opened tins of cat food (’sardine surprise’ – I bet the cat would be surprised if I tried to feed that to him), a mug of what appears to have once been chicken stock, half a bottle of (frozen) chocolate sauce and a paper bag of long departed mushrooms. I have no explanation for the small bottle of anchovy sauce.

Just when I thought of indulging in a refreshing afternoon nap. Sigh.

Now I’ll have to search under the sink for something to clean the fridge with and, believe me, I’m not looking forward to what’s under there either. I need a small glass of sherry just thinking about it – if I can find the sherry in the cupboard.

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