Ketchup Soup

“You’ll never believe what happened to me on the tr..”

“Did you bring the ketchup”

My face moved.

“How the fuck could you forget ketchup?”

We were expecting a blitz and she wanted to make ketchup soup to impress the neighbours.

I produced the bottle from my coat with a smile.

She sank to her knees.

“I don’t love you anymore” I heard her say.

Soup of love

The food of love is probably soup although I can’t be sure, I said in a level of voice unsuitable for the time of morning. She didn’t stir. Pretending to asleep again. She let out a slight but very convincing snore. An actress then, I thought to myself. Of course she is. I only meet actresses nowadays. Everybody’s off doing some play while the poor nurses grow fat on the poverty line.

Fishy broth

It wasn’t quite bisque but she could smell the sea. With the restaurant to herself she slurped the fishy broth.

Foot soup

The circus arrived during lunch. Foot soup. Patsy and Paul Foot were enjoying family soup. Banana sandwiches drowned in steaming mugs of tea. Eaten from a communal mixing bowl with large spoons. Patsy and Paul had been brought up on it. Only two non-Feet had had the pleasure of Foot soup. And one of them had just rolled into Centreville – a clown named Jonathan. John the Clown for short. The unmentioned motorcade could be heard in the distance.

“You have to hand it to that family of feet” Tardy Leo the fat acrobat said. Jonathan remained silent. With a penchant for the dramatic the clown was sulking. Clowning with glazed eyes and upside down frowns.

“They seem pretty content is all” Leo continued to venture.

Silence. The truck rolled on. Right through Centreville and all its former glory leaving its two occupants alone. With banana soup.