This morning, idly flicking through twitter as I sipped my tea, I came across a tweet.
Interest piqued, I replied.
It reminded me of the time when a certain newly wed, newly mortgaged couple were invited to their neighbours for a dinner party. For the newly espoused, this was a big event. Suitably frocked, Mateus Rose in hand (it was the late 1980s), our delightful duo embarked to the land next door, where they were met by amazing smells of spices, meats, pastry and something vaguely sweet. The nose always knows, they say, and in this instance the nose was not disappointed. Neither were the taste buds, the tongue or the tonsils. Course by course, the hostess – ‘Mum’s from France, Dad’s Vietnamese, we were raised in Noumea‘ – presented dish after dish and plate after platter piled with delightful goodies, well fortified by Mateus, not to mention a few extra sips here and there, as it were.
Duly sated, table cleared, the new bride wandered through the immaculately presented home to the kitchen to offer to assist with coffee making, washing up, or whatever was required.
What greeted her seemed impossible to her eyes. It made no sense. For there were all the dishes and cookware, lined across the floor in what appeared to be military precision. Platters, plates, bowls, trays. Baking dishes. Oven tray. Chopping boards. And busy, on duty, a large Alsatian and a small, furry black ball with legs – both head down, tail up, ‘doing the dishes’.
My in-laws had Schnauzers.
I have photos of them sitting at the table, hair brushed and bibbed up, ready to eat with their ‘parents’ at the set table.
So tell me – what’s your views on doggies and dishes? Is lick and wash an acceptable practice?
Oh – if you want to know what happened to Tony from Windsor – you can hear it here (slide to 1.10)