Banana Split

My father loved banana splits. They were his favourite, slightly exotic, indulgent dessert, though I don't remember them being served often when I was growing up. I think they had nostalgic associations for him with being a young man in the 1950s, when the postwar generation had access to bananas and sugar again and could frequent milk bars or coffee bars. I suspect from my mum's smile when he mentioned them that they may have figured somewhere in their late fifties courtship. Then sometime after I left home, probably in the early eighties, I discovered he had acquired a set of banana split dishes, probably from one of the emporia of surplus and remaindered goods where he used to rummage for timber, tools and all kinds of odds and ends and delight in returning home with unexpected bargains sold at knock-down prices. The dishes were used from time to time - at least once when I visited - and when I eventually helped to clear the house, I nostalgically kept just one of them.

On Saturdays J and I usually eat brunch; then sometime in the afternoon she enjoys a dessert. It was warm, I thought she should eat some fruit, she wanted ice cream, so I got out the sprinkles and last drips of chocolate ice cream sauce and embellished the combination. She was delighted and ate it all. 

Our neighbour B, who is a retired mechanical engineer and likes machines, helped P to finish assembling and setting up the shiny new power scythe, which was quite complex and needed a lot more assembly than the website had made clear. It cuts through long grass impressively, which is why he bought it, but seemed rather prone to stalling on hidden anthills (of which we have many), and will be very tiring to use. We hope it will enable us (meaning P) to keep the grass under control as the draught continues and the fire risk increases.