Irene

In the basement of a department store, I ask the shop assistant whether they have any pudding basins to make Christmas pudding.  'Yes', she says.  'We've got loads'.  On taking me to the display, however, we discover that the only ones remaining are individual-sized.  'That's not what you're looking for, is it?' she says.  I confirm that it is not.  'I'm sorry', she says.

We discuss whether I am too late to be starting.  'It depends what you're going for', she says.  We talk about the different methods of steeping fruit in alcohol.  She has a bob of dark hair and wants to help.  Before leaving, I ask my question. 

'Do I have to tell you mine?' she asks.  I tell her it is not obligatory.  She does anyway.  'Four generations it's been passed down', she tells me.  'I hate it'.  Then she adds, 'And I lumbered my daughter with it too.  That's the sort of mother I am'.