The other day, the family was invited out by a couple in Dad’s parish. Dinner was spicy peppered carrot soup, fresh heads of cauliflower in cheese sauce and boiled potatoes bursting out of their jackets. Maureen had made me nutroast, and served up a portion that would have kept a family of squirrels obese for three generations.
“God, these spuds are delicious,” I said to Liam. “Do you grow them yourself?”
“Oh no, no, not at all, I don’t, no.”
“<looking confused, apparently>”
“No,” he clarified.
“Where did you get them at all?”