I was on my way back from Cooma when I got a text message "Scones and Jam - where are you?". I thought blimey who's at the house, I never get scones unless there is a visitor. Luckily I was only a couple of hundred meters from the front gate. I shot down to the house as quick as a rat up a drain pipe and sat myself down. The little house smelt of baking scones, nothing like it in the world - and no visitors.
The cook wander out of the kitchen and plonked this incredible plate of piping hot, plump, golden scones down in front of me. Well, you could have knocked me down with a feather - not only was there scones, these were pumpkin scones! In no time I'd polished off a good half dozen, all topped in the most glorious black berry jam made from the berries the cook and billy lids had picked along river last spring.
Then this morning, there she was again, in the kitchen whipping up a fresh batch of her famous ANZAC biscuits for our lunches - crickey we've got a great cook!