Two Soups, Julie Walters.

19 Feb

It’s impossible to go into a shop and buy a carton of cranberry juice (and only that) without the cashier thinking you’ve got cystitis.

It took all my willpower to not look him in the eye and say “It’s not for a UTI, by the way. I just like cranberry juice. DON’T JUDGE ME.”

Now you all now about the status of my not so private parts, there’s just enough time to tell you that my Mum and Dad are brilliant.

I’m quite biased, as we’re related and all, but they’re genuinely two of the funniest people I know, and I know a lot of funny people.

It’s just a shame that we don’t get to spend more time together, but there’ll be plenty of time for that when I’m home for the summer. I don’t even think we had an argument during this visit, which is practically unheard of.

I mean, Dad nearly accidentally stole something from a church, Mum gave a driver the wrong directions then essentially ran away when he crossed our path again, and I managed to fill the kitchen in a thick cloud of oily black smoke, but we’re all still alive, and that’s all we could ask for.

(The title today is a reference to us being sat in a cafe, being passed by a waitress holding two bowls of soup, and me saying “two soups, Julie Walters”, which made Mum absolutely crease up to the point of almost genuinely ROFL-ing. And she says I’m not funny. Unbelievable.)

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