5th June 1951


I really don’t understand what’s got into George lately. He was looking at me in the oddest way when he got home from work this evening. I asked him what was wrong and he just shook his head, and asked what I’d been up to today. When I began to tell him about my dress and the pink satin I’d been working on he looked almost disappointed and excused himself to wash and change before tea.

Well, I wasn’t that put out by him at that point, I just shrugged it off and carried on preparing the meal. But when we sat down to tuck in and I placed his plate in front of him George groaned ‘Carrots and peas again?’

I was shocked because usually he seems so happy that I cook his meals for him so I asked ‘What’s wrong with carrots and peas? I thought you liked them’. But George just shook his head and began to spear carrots onto his fork in a rather heavy handed way. We didn’t say much after that but later on in the evening when we were sitting down together out of the blue he piped up, ‘It’s just that every bloody meal you cook its carrots and peas, if I eat another bloody carrot I think I’ll turn orange!’

‘George!’ I gasped ‘What’s got into you?’ I couldn’t believe my ears, George was spouting ‘bloodies’ like there was no tomorrow and he normally makes such a point of not swearing.

If I’m honest I suppose I do cook a lot of the same things. I’m just not that keen on cooking, not like Mother, who could plan and prepare a twelve course meal for the King if she had to. As for carrots and peas, I just like the colours and the way they look so bright and cheery together. I suppose I never noticed we have been eating a lot of them lately. But this is the first time George has ever complained about my cooking. I feel rather hurt actually, and I’ll make a point of buying him something ghastly like cauliflower just to shut him up next time.