Geraniums

Geraniums

Tommy's sister was a bit of a challenge.

'What the feck's this?' she screamed from the kitchen.

 'Mary, Mary,.... Whadya mean? Whatsa matter? 

 'There's a tray of dirt in the feckin oven!'

 'Sure there is.  So what?  You'll be getting yourself worked up for nothin...'

 'So what!  So fecking what!  Are you mad?  Are you totally fecking mad?

 'Well, I dunno about that.'  He tried to laugh it off.  'What's getting at you?'

 'Look.'  She pulled the oven door.  Inside there was a roasting tin full of soil.  Baking at 140 degrees.  'Look!'  She pointed, 'Look!'

 'I'm sterilising me potting compost.'

 'You've cooked in this tin,' she paused,  '...for me!'

 'Yup.'

 'Potting compost?'

 'Yup.'

 'You're mad.'

 'I missed show's overall winner rosette last year....bulb rot, parasites.  I'm not missing it again.'

 'You put potting compost in the roasting tin!  Jesus H Christ.'

 She left shortly afterwards.  That would have been February.  She didn't stop over. 'A bit of a win,' thought Tommy.  For sure, he loved his sister, but that's no reason to have her tell him how to keep his kitchen.

 Late Octboer she phoned, 'Can I come up - your birthday?  Stop over?'

 'Time to bring geraniums in,' he said to himself.  He covered the spare bedroom floor, bed, dressing table with trays of potted geraniums.  'You'll be cosy here,' he smiled.

Then he phoned his sister.