Once upon a time when I was single girl, in the days before wellies and well, em, boys, I was quaint and I did love a silver service. Knowing this, a wonderful friend once bought me an antique wooden tray. A egg shell coloured tray with gold rim, just enough space in the handles for a dainty lady to carry and the picture of two antique roses on top. Beautiful. I used it a lot, in my free time, when I wasn’t working, I lived like a retiree, going from one elegant cup of tea to the next. Ah, the memory of it.

Alas, there is nothing like life to come and add some rough edges. Trying to keep my beautiful tray from recieving the Brosnan young boy treatment, I hid it, under the socks; a guarentee that it would never be seen again. For with a gaggle of young sons, a farmer and yours truly, the dilemma of the sock mountain has yet to be overcome, literally.

This morning, in the rush for one pair of matching socks, just one, Lord, just one, I came accross my tray. It’s image must have attached itself to me for it hung with me whilst I ran two boys to school, got an emergency milk cluster shell at the creamery (I know), and the obligatory bottle of calpol for the feverish little one. And because my young man had not slept very well last night, he duly toddled his way up the wooden stairs for some much needed sleep.

So out came the tray.

Holding back on breakfasts, as mommys sometimes do, until the crew are all delivered to their posts, I had it all to eat now. I lay that beautiful tray on my table and on it I placed the warmed porridge with creamy milk, some fresh juice, brown bread with butter and jam, some coffee. It needed a napkin, some lovely (and by lovely I mean clean) cutlery, some brown sugar and a tidy space to lay it down. I dare not look around because you know what the house looks like, I need not describe it to you. No. Instead, know that the lady of the house enjoyed her peaceful breakfast looking out over the mountains of Kerry on a bright sunny morning as the last of the lavendar wave their goodbyes. I dare not come to the end of this post, and know that the lovely tray will have to be put away, maybe somewhere that from now that it will serve as a reminder to the quaint little lady inside who needs a quiet and darling old time.