an irish interchange
i go downstairs with my head in my hands, attempting to drown out the sounds of the marching band which seems to be passing right outside my window
Mum (ridiculously chirpy): 'Morning! Tea pie?'
Mum: 'Tea pie?'
mum reaches into the microwave to pull out a range of baked products - not microwaved, just in their packets, kept in the microwave - and hands me a fruit muffin. my dog looks from me to my mother in utter confusion.