Lentilah Blossom stood at her door and checked her watch. One minute past the hour.

Where was the old bat? Just winding me up, she thought. She’s the one who’s moaning if I’m even a fraction late. Well, just you wait, Granny Windbag, I am going to give you what-for. Not that it’ll be your fault. Oh no, heaven forfend. It’ll be the landlord, or that pompous oaf of a son or some such.

Like last week, when his lord and master comes a knocking while I’m frustigating my giblets. Can I lend him some milk because Granny Windbag hasn’t got any in? What’s he think, I’m her shopper? He’s her spawn; he can go buy some. And she knows Thursdays is giblets day. Send him over, just to try and upset my jelloids. Ha! She’ll not catch me out. I’m wise to her trickery. She even sent himself to tell me not to work in the garden, to give it a rest. What did he say? ‘It’ll be nice to have a break.’

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