Seville

Dad made amazing marmalade.

Once a year he would pride himself in ordering the best Seville oranges from Bolton market, sitting patiently slicing them into the finest slices at the kitchen table. Then came the boiling, which filled the house with it's mouth watering smell. The larder at my parents house was stacked shelf upon shelf with jars of home made jam, honey and... marmalade.

We had two final jars of Dads marmalade in our kitchen cupboard. I was saving them for... I'm not quite sure what for. This morning Miss B came rushing and woke me up to tell me she'd eaten marmalade for breakfast and that it was DELICIOUS! Of course it was, my Dad made it! Mr B had unwittingly opened one of the remaining jars.

It was timely. I'm not sure I'd ever have opened either of them, trying to preserve something tangible my Dad had left behind. I miss him. I MISS him.

He made the marmalade to be eaten and enjoyed, and so we shall.