Recently, a good friend from London came to stay. I’ve known him longer than almost anyone, which means that the basic niceties that normally exist between two people have long since gone out the window. He arrived, put his bag down, announced that he hadn’t had any dinner, and went straight to the fridge. What he found there horrified him.
“There’s a pool of water,” he said, staring into the bottom shelf. “Why is there a pool of water collecting in your fridge?” Then he pulled out a Tupperware, opened it and wrinkled his nose. “Mould,” he said, looking at me.
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