Every Easter, I used to stay with my great aunt, just outside Chester.
I loved Auntie Beattie. She let me do all the things I wasn’t allowed to do at home, like ironing and using a knife.
We’d spend hours crushing rose petals in her old pill bottles to make perfume. She’d take me to the over 60s Salvation Army lunches, where I’d chat with all the seniors and help with the washing up.
Once, I talked her into missing church in favour of playing catch. We had to dive behind the conifers to hide from her usual lift. I’m not sure which one of us was the worse influence!
Anyway, the thing we always did was watch The Sound of Music together. I pretty much knew all the lyrics by the age of ten; Aunt Beat favoured humming.
Thus, it seemed only fitting to let Duck Does have a bash at one of the classics. I knew he’d get carried away. I knew I’d regret it. But it’s too late now. The hills are alive with the sound of a quacking duck in a nun’s outfit.
