Someone asked me the other day why I, of all people, should have been blessed with the presence of a chocolate fairy in my life. Why doesn’t everyone get one? (The answer to that comes from W. S. Gilbert, who wrote a song containing the immortal words, ‘If everyone is somebody, then no-one’s anybody!’) In other words, if we were all given a chocolate fairy, then chocolate fairies would be so commonplace they wouldn’t be of any interest.

However, I was delighted recently to find that chocolate fairies can turn up in the oddest of places. I was in hospital for a knee operation (yes, thank you; it’s coming on nicely), but I was not enjoying the food. I asked the lovely man who was serving supper if he could find me some chocolate, and he supplied me with a packet of chocolate bourbon biscuits, and even sked if he should open them for me! Oh, bliss, Oh, rapture! Did that make me feel better? Yes, it did. Now he was a real chocolate fairy, though I don’t think the terminology is right. Chocolate elf? Chocolate knight? ‘Sir’ Chocolate? I may never see him again, but I shall always remember his kindness.

So Chocolate Friends (is that a better way of describing them?) can be found anywhere. A reader has asked me to give her address to the Chocolate Fairy. Perhaps we should all look for opportunities in which we can become a chocolate fairy to someone else?

Meanwhile, I’ve been wrestling with the Christmas story for the Recorder. I had to ask myself, ‘What exactly do I think is important about Christmas?’ To some people it might mean going to a midnight service at Church. To others, it is the opportunity to party with one’s peers, or to get together with your family, have a slap-up meal, and hopefully no quarrelling among the children or the grownups. But will we be allowed to meet in each other’s houses this year?

Then, carol singing is out. I suppose expensive presents will be ‘in’, but what about sending cards? Does the high cost of postage deter us? And then I come down to the nitty gritty . . . ‘What does Christmas really mean to you?’

I made a list of what might not be considered important. Christmas trees were at the top of that list until I suddenly thought that even if the decorated tree was a comparatively new addition to the scene, I really wanted one. So now, more thought required.

The story that comes with this newsletter is called ‘Christmas is coming’. It was published in the Methodist Recorder some years ago so there’s no sign of Covid, which I think is a relief, isn’t it? You can access it here . . .

And finally, the paperback version of False Account came out at the end of last month, so if you’ve missed it earlier, now’s the chance to catch up.

A blessing on all those who do good for others but don’t expect thanks for it.

Veronica Heley

How do you poach the perfect egg? I told myself this was a trivial matter, which should hardly disturb my mind when I have important things to do, like working on the Christmas short story. I knew poaching an egg wasn’t the easiest thing to do. In fact, I seem to recall that the last time I tried to do it, I produced a nightmare of a dish which didn’t even get as far as the plate which I had put out to receive it.

But the image of two perfectly poached eggs on a bed of spinach continued to haunt me. I fantasized that there might be a fresh bread roll beside it? Or a piece of buttered toast? So I asked a friend here and a friend there how they managed it, and the answers were many and varied. Vinegar was mentioned, and special appliances. One said you swirled the water around before sliding the egg in. Another said he’d seen someone put clingfilm into the poacher, drop the egg in that, fold over the clingfilm and Bob’s your Uncle. But no one admitted to having created the perfect dish themselves. Their excuse was that the eggs had to be really fresh for a good result. Well, who can get a really fresh egg nowadays? Apart from those of us who keep hens.

So I cooked some spinach, and I tried to poach two eggs. I ate them. Well, almost all of them. (You know what happened to the whites, don’t you?)

I must admit to being rather tired today. I’ve spent the last ten days doing the copy-editing of the next book, titled MURDER-IN-LAW. Oh dear, oh dear. It arrived in teeny weeny print that I could hardly read, so it was a real problem for me to check out trouble spots and correct them. I do like that story, which has the dreadful Diana dumping her children on Susan and Rafael as they move into their half of Ellie’s big house, now divided into two. But finally, my corrections have all been done, and accepted . . . which only means, of course, that the proof reading will shortly be on its way to me.

Something to remember; the paperback version of the Bea Abbot story came out on Friday 30th October. I do hope your libraries are opening up faster than ours is. I am visiting our local bookshop far more often than I used to do. Mind you, I’m grateful that these bookshops still exist. I’ve been tasting the work of some authors I know well, and others of whom I have heard but not yet read. Perhaps it’s good for one’s broader education to try something new . . . so long as it doesn’t end up with you feeling extremely depressed. I like a positive ending!

The story from the archives which automatically comes with this newsletter is called ‘A Change of Address’, which can happen to some of us as we get older. It’s a sensible practice to downsize, but can be difficult for the people concerned. You can access it here . . .

A blessing on all those who share pieces of cake they’ve made with their neighbours.

Veronica Heley