Haircuts, Damsons and Daddy's Socks

My friends Frank and Elaine came over on Sunday. I've known them for about forever. Elaine has finally got her thyroid medication sorted out and she's lost nearly four stone in the past three months. She must feel so much better. She certainly looks more like the old Elaine we all know and love.

Frank is doing well too. He is Saskia's Godfather, but he handed out cuddles to both girls and fended off the attentions of Pal (who loves him in a different way!). Frank used to be a hairdresser, a long time ago, so I roped him into trimming the frizz off the bottom of my locks. I have a nasty feeling the last time I got my hair cut was in India, over a year ago. No wonder I have split ends.

Today, I wrote more stuff I hope to sell, and then picked the kids up from school and went down to Mum's. The damsons are ripe and nearly falling off the tree, so I spent 20 minutes picking a bucket full, with Mel, Saskia and Eartha helping. (Donny had gone to Brownies.)

What to do with 15lb of damsons? It has hardly made any difference to the tree, which is still dripping purple fruit. I made three crumbles at Mum's to try and use some of them up. We had damson crumble and custard for tea.

The purple juice from the damsons, mixed with the yellow custard makes a particular maroon colour. When we were little, we used to have stewed damsons and custard. We would mix it up so the whole thing was a uniform maroon, just the same colour as one particular pair of Dad's socks. We called the desert "Daddy's Socks". The name stuck and for years we have had Daddy's Socks for afters, much to the confusion of any guests.