Anvil Of Necessity

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“Good simple, solid grub, that's what I like. Not this foreign mucked-about stuff.” John McMullen's voice took up a sneering overtone. “Ree-Zot-Ow. Rah-vee-owli. Spar-get-ee. What's wrong with foreigners, why can't they eat honest meat-and-two-veg like normal people? Nah, they've got to muck around with everything.”

“I'm sorry luv, but its alt the shops have. I searched all day but there aren't potatoes to be had for love nor money. Tried everywhere I did. Even went down to the corner.” Maisie McMullen used the euphemism for the black market with the ease of long habit. “They didn't have none either, not for any price. Had some fish they said was cod from the Atlantic but it looked like herring to me. Didn't want to chance it. But the grocer had this risotto stuff, it was only one point for the box, and I thought it would be best. Looks a bit like potato don't you think?” She tried to smile bravely but tears were trickling down her cheeks.

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