Once upon a time, two sisters travelled
many miles to buy food. Gretel and Beatrice Gooseberry often went to Rosewait,
the market with the green stripes, to buy things like apples, French cheeses
and cakes.
The day was fine, and the sisters were in a good mood. Along the journey, Gretel turned to Beatrice and asked, ‘sister, what happened to that pretty blouse you used to have?’
‘Of which blouse do you speak, Gretel?’ asked Beatrice, for Beatrice had many blouses.
‘’Twas a silky blouse, a purpley colour, and it has a big bow on the neck line,’ said Gretel.
‘I don’t think I’ve ever had a blouse like that,’ said Beatrice. She may have had many blouses, but she fondly remembered most of them.
‘Yes, yes you did,’ insisted Gretel. ‘It was your favourite. You used to wear it all the time,’
They had reached Rosewait, and they parked their carriage and hurried to find a small cart in which to put the good while they walked around, seeking organic extra virgin olive oil and luxury Swiss chocolates.
‘I am sure I didn’t, Gretel,’ said Beatrice, inspecting a punnet of strawberries.
‘You did! You bought it in that manky charity shop that smelled of wet dog,’
‘They all smell of wet dog,’ said Beatrice.
‘You paid 50p for it, and said it was a bargain! How can you not remember that?’
‘Because I have never bought a 50p purple blouse from a charity shop,’ said Beatrice.
‘It was a Biba blouse, from the '70s, and you said, ‘they don’t know what this is!’ and you snatched it up and ran to the till because you were afraid someone would take it from your hands!’
‘No, no,’ said Beatrice. ‘I have never done such a thing, not for a purple blouse!’
‘You used to wear it all the time! You wore it every time we went to the ale house!’
Gretel was now getting annoyed that her sister could not remember the beautiful purple blouse she had once loved so much. They finished their shopping, and returned to the carriage.
As they queueing to leave carriage park, Gretel tried one more time to nudge Beatrice’s memory.
‘You used to call it your ‘Maggie Thatcher’ blouse,’ she said.
‘I did not, Gretel,’ said Beatrice.
‘You did! You did!’ shouted Gretel. ‘what happened to the purple pussy bow blouse?’ she then went very quiet, lost in thought. Eventually she said…
‘Oh, yeah. It wasn’t you that had that blouse. It was my friend Katie.’
‘
The day was fine, and the sisters were in a good mood. Along the journey, Gretel turned to Beatrice and asked, ‘sister, what happened to that pretty blouse you used to have?’
‘Of which blouse do you speak, Gretel?’ asked Beatrice, for Beatrice had many blouses.
‘’Twas a silky blouse, a purpley colour, and it has a big bow on the neck line,’ said Gretel.
‘I don’t think I’ve ever had a blouse like that,’ said Beatrice. She may have had many blouses, but she fondly remembered most of them.
‘Yes, yes you did,’ insisted Gretel. ‘It was your favourite. You used to wear it all the time,’
They had reached Rosewait, and they parked their carriage and hurried to find a small cart in which to put the good while they walked around, seeking organic extra virgin olive oil and luxury Swiss chocolates.
‘I am sure I didn’t, Gretel,’ said Beatrice, inspecting a punnet of strawberries.
‘You did! You bought it in that manky charity shop that smelled of wet dog,’
‘They all smell of wet dog,’ said Beatrice.
‘You paid 50p for it, and said it was a bargain! How can you not remember that?’
‘Because I have never bought a 50p purple blouse from a charity shop,’ said Beatrice.
‘It was a Biba blouse, from the '70s, and you said, ‘they don’t know what this is!’ and you snatched it up and ran to the till because you were afraid someone would take it from your hands!’
‘No, no,’ said Beatrice. ‘I have never done such a thing, not for a purple blouse!’
‘You used to wear it all the time! You wore it every time we went to the ale house!’
Gretel was now getting annoyed that her sister could not remember the beautiful purple blouse she had once loved so much. They finished their shopping, and returned to the carriage.
As they queueing to leave carriage park, Gretel tried one more time to nudge Beatrice’s memory.
‘You used to call it your ‘Maggie Thatcher’ blouse,’ she said.
‘I did not, Gretel,’ said Beatrice.
‘You did! You did!’ shouted Gretel. ‘what happened to the purple pussy bow blouse?’ she then went very quiet, lost in thought. Eventually she said…
‘Oh, yeah. It wasn’t you that had that blouse. It was my friend Katie.’
‘
