The delights of aging

Getting old is great. I don't mean getting old in my half-arsed, whinging about grey hairs and worsening hangovers sort of way. I mean the getting your pension sort of old that my mum is currently rocking. On the downside: her husband has died and she's had her cancerous innards removed, but crikey she gets a lot of free jam... and unjammed fruit! Week in week out people pop by the house and drop off raspberry jam, a couple of pounds of gooseberries, indian chutney, crab apple jelly. And five thousand plums. The plums actually came via my Grandma. Where they came from before that I cannot be sure. Grandma remembered that they were given to her by a couple. She could not remember the names of the couple but was pretty sure that they didn't own a garden, never mind a plum tree. These two facts led her to the conclusion that they had snuck into someone else's garden and stolen all their plums. I ventured that the mystery couple might not steal plums just to give away but she wouldn't have it. The plum crumble was all the more delicious knowing that it was made from the booty (in the old-fashioned pirate sense of the word not the new bot-based sense) of fruity Robin Hood characters!