Harold scowled and peeled his sandwich apart. "This is just bread and jam," he said. "What happened to the generous coating of lightly salted English butter?"
"Don't look at me," said Julie. "I don't know where it goes. I bought four pounds of it in last week's shopping but can I find any now?"" She glared at Jasfoup. "That was a rhetorical question."
Jasfoup held up his hands in mock surrender. "I wasn't going to say a word," he said, watching the five year old Lucy on the street outside. A solitary child, she generally made up her own games. The one she was playing at present involved hopping and jumping along a chalked outline, picking up a puck along the way.
A very large, very runny, foil-coated puck.
Image: Hopscotch and Handbags: The Truth About Being a Girl