Steve's Easter Weekend

Steve tried his best but we survived!

The Easter weekend is always a busy time of year for Steve and me. I take care of the traditional side of things, and Steve does, well, Steve stuff.

For example, Good Friday is Hot Cross Bun Day, so whilst Steve was at the pub, I was in the kitchen following a recipe that’s been in the family for as long as anyone can remember. The bun part was successful, but I forgot to do the crosses (Steve phoned to be picked up from the pub, and distracted me).

For Steve, a four-day weekend means extended pub hours, which means extended pub expenses. Every year he comes up with a creative way to raise additional funds, and this year was no different. He and Brad took over the front room window to do whatever it is they are doing here (see photo), and people walking by have been more than happy to donate.

But the most important part of Easter for Steve is his annual Easter Speech. He’s always done one, nobody knows why, and it’s only usually me and Brad in the audience. It’s also generally somewhat incoherent. Personally, I feel a lot of it is made up on the spot.

We dutifully gathered in the front room shortly after dinner, and following a lengthy introduction, the speech then appeared to run out of steam. Hoping we might be blessed with a shorter performance this year, I got up to leave Alas, this displeased Steve greatly, and I was told to sit back down.

Steve then proceeded to stare at us for 25 minutes like this (see below), and to be honest it got quite awkward. Time began to behave strangely. I asked to open a window, but Brad quietly let me know this wouldn’t be advisable.

Eventually the silence was broken by Steve blurting out something about needing mouth petrol (water) and Brad proved himself a bit of a hero by taking this opportunity to point out that the pub would be open soon.

Steve was ushered out of the room, and mercifully that was that. Brad reappeared ten minutes later with a tepid cup of tea and the vague air of someone who’d just done something unpleasant but necessary, like putting down a pet. I was assured Steve was OK, but urged not to mention the speech, in case it should start up again. A moment later, I heard the front door slam.

Steve is now safely at the pub, and has taken all his Easter eggs with him. I strongly suspect he will be flogging them down the pub in exchange for beer money. So like last year, Steve won’t have any eggs this Easter, just a hangover.

Anyway, that’s basically what happened to us this weekend. But I hope you all had a pleasant speech-free Easter.