Bubblehammerblog

I was leaving the house with my youngest daughter and my little grandson Snorri, she was giving me a lift to the supermarket. As I was locking the back door I made a few remarks about frozen sweetcorn. In my view fresh sweetcorn, on the cob, boiled with a little salt and sugar is infinitely superior to the frozen product. Nothing ruins the delicate flavor of sweetcorn like stripping it from the cob and freeezing it. Even the canned variety is preferable. People who freeze sweetcorn deserve to be horsewhipped.

I could see immediately that Klara disapproved of what I said about sweetcorn, though my remarks were delivered without rancour. I suspect she was offended by the mention of sugar, which she detests. I got the impression that she was imagining me boiling corn on the cob in stiffly salted sugar syrup, which I would serve to a delighted Snorri sprinkled with demerara.

It took a while for her to compose an irked riposte. As we were getting into her car she said irritably, 'Dad, you're such...so narrow-minded...such a bigot. You take up these extreme opinions and then you force them down other people's thoats. You're always doing it.'

Klara is four months pregnant, and this was not the first time I'd seen her flushed with teetering, unpredictable emotions. I didn't want to upset her, so I offered a commendation of frozen garden peas, explaining that I had no objection at all to freezing food in principle. 'Frozen peas', I said by way of conciliation, 'are naturally sweet.'

Nothing further was said about vegetables. We motored through the city streets in pregnant silence. My sweet little Snorri sat in the front seat beside his mother, in his hands, as always, a toy car. I leaned over and fondly stroked his hair. Some minutes passed.

'You're so insensitive', Klara announced at last with a sigh. 'Other people just don't exist for you. You live in your own little world with your opinions and nothing else is real. No wonder Mum's hysterical.'

'I see', I replied calmly, 'an insensitive bigot. Good grief.'
'You must know you are. People have told you often enough.'

I was about to enquire after an example, when I noticed the engagement ring on Klara's finger, a fine antique rose gold and emerald ring they'd bought only a week ago. Of course, I hadn't met her fiancé Gustave, since she remained reluctant to expose him to my insensitive bigotry, and her mother's hysteria. I sensed Snorri tauten in apprehension.

'Pull over just here', I said airily, 'I'll walk the rest of the way.'

Snorri wound down the front window and I put my head through and kissed him goodbye.

'Whatever happened to greengrocers?' I wondered aloud. 'Vanished from the face of the Earth.'

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