Written on 21 February 2019
“He hates cake.”
“He hates most things!”
“Yeah, but especially cake.” He always made a point of turning down cake when it was someone else's birthday. “Can't stand the stuff.” etc.
“Okay. What about profiteroles or a trifle or, like a mound of rocky roads.”
“A mound?”
“Whatever the collective noun is. Either way, we forgot, and as big an asshole as he is, he never forgets our birthdays.” 15 minutes once a year to receive a slice of Colin caterpillar and a card with 20 different versions of “have a great day.”
“What about a sausage roll. Or a mound of them or whatever? He's always eating them.”
“Okay, fine, let's just get them quick.”
As we stood there with a hastily written-in card and the mound of sweating, greasy sausage rolls, he smiled benignly and enjoyed his 15 minutes of attention.