Chris normally has a mixture of fruit - banana or orange segments - and yoghurt with some kind of bran or muesli for breakfast, but this morning we'd run out of yoghurt.
In the top of the fridge I found a pot of 'fresh' custard that I'd bought a couple of days ago and offered her that, but somehow it wasn't *quite* what she wanted. It did however make me reminisce about how, when I was small, my mother would make me custard for breakfast sometimes. Chris also mentioned her mum making her sausage sandwiches, because there was a lot of stuff she didn't like, and these were an exception.
I wonder if we drove our mothers slightly to despair with our fussiness?
But we are both grateful for what they provided. It's nice to have happy memories of the old yellow-painted kitchen at the doctors surgery (my mother was receptionist, and a modest flat went with the job). I also remember it being completely dark outside when the custard was made for me, so heaven only knows what time my mum would get up every morning to make the place ready for patients.