doris fired up the circular saw and sliced off a couple of three inch thick bacon rashers, each of which were probably big enough to carpet the average living room floor.
she threw them carelessly into the customised car bonnet we use for a grill pan, then switched on the sun lamp, and pretty soon they were sizzling.

but she seemed preoccupied this morning.
i asked her why.

she chewed thoughtfully before taking a long draught of cheap cider.
then she leaned towards me.

'you won't tell anyone will you?'
'tell anyone what?' i replied.
'well ... i'm having a bit of trouble ... down below ...'
'oh god,' i said. 'don't tell me the cellar is flooded again.'
'no, no. down below. me. you know ...'
'your foot hurts?'
'no, further up.'
'ooooh, i see.'

she nodded. the message had got through.
after breakfast, she showed me where she'd grazed her knee.
apparently, flossie the chambermaid had dropped a box of milk tray and doris had kindly offered to help her pick them up.
but rather too eagerly.
now she mentions it, i do remember hearing a crashing sound from the basement last night.

down below ...