Religious Education, Offerings and Stiff Letters
Secondary school. The class was tasked with making some type of old bread-like offering some Jewish chaps used to make in the olden days. It had raisins and miracles in it, or something. I dutifully note down the ingredients and cooking guidelines from the blackboard and wander off home to present Mum with my list of needs from the local shop.

Once all the ingredients had been procured, we set about mixing the various bits and bobs together. I seem to remember quite a lot of dried fruit making it's way into this mixture, which, according to my notes, had to be popped on the hob with some water for a bit. Following the guidelines 'religiously' (sorry), that's exactly what we did.

After the required time on the hob, off came the lid to inspect the mix, ready for the next stage. What greeted us was definitely not something old JC would be proud of. In fact, I reckon he and his pops would most likely banish this abomination to the fiery depths of Hell should I have pitched up at the pearlys with a bowlful.

Now, Mum hates waste, with a passion. There was no way of resurrecting the gloop that lined the bottom of the pan, all was lost, a culinary Armageddon. Add to that the wasted evening and wasted leccy and Mum, bless her, was seething.

The pan was left to soak and the gloop was binned. What followed could only be described as 'furious scribbling', coupled with a chunnering under her breath, I think there were sweary words involved. I was then handed a note, folded, and told not to open it, just to give it to my RE teacher the next day.

On entering the classroom, I was greeted by beaming smiles from my fellow students as they showed off the wonderful offerings they had managed (some-bloody-how) to create, complete with halo and choir music as they open the tupperware box. Rejoice!

Noticing that I had no halo wielding tupperware, the RE teacher asks me what's happened to my attempt. My only reply was to hand her the folded note I had been instructed to give her. To this day, I have no idea what Mum wrote in that letter but the teacher went a very odd shade of grey and sat uncharacteristically quiet for the rest of the lesson.

Religion - Don't mess with Mums, they'll send letters!
(smithe-ingelby-smithe, Fri 14 Aug 2009, 14:52, Reply)