For all of you waiting for A Sense of the Ridiculous...
Sorry, but there has been a hold-up on the editing front. In the meantime, here's another snippet to keep you going!
Richard Cowley was whistling a jaunty tune as he walked into the kitchen of his mother’s Holly Tree Inn. It was a bright, sunny morning, and he had been up since dawn mucking out and feeding the sixteen horses at present in the stables. The tantalizing aroma of frying bacon made his mouth water. His mother, Meg, flipped over the thick slices as he sat down at the scrubbed oak table, and the sound of sizzling fat filled the wide, low-beamed room.
“Have you washed your hands?” she asked without turning around.
“Yes. I am no longer five, Mother.”
She did turn then, brandishing the fish slice she had been using. “I am all too aware of that, having been present at your birth,” she said in an acerbic tone. “You are seven-and-twenty and still unwed.”
He groaned. “Not that again.”
“I thought you liked Miss Bowen?”
Richard rubbed his face with his hand, remembering the pale blonde daughter of one of his mother’s cronies. She had been so shy that she had conversed with him in monosyllables.
“I liked her well enough,” he said noncommittally.
“But?” prompted his mother, a resigned look on her face.
“She agreed with everything I said.”
“And that is a bad thing?”
“I should like my wife to know her own mind, to be able hold her own opinions.”
(C) Heather King