Time For A Wobble?

What is it about jelly? The shape of it? The taste of it? Its texture or just simply the way it wobbles? Whatever it is it never fails to bring on a case of the giggles whenever it is served at this house. Not that it is served that often and maybe that's something I should remedy because a serious fit of the giggles is never to be sneezed at!
I heard the other day somebody mention that they were going to make a special supper for their eldest child after an exam and that there would be jelly. Big Sister who was at that time, just embarking on the long and intense timetable of GCSEs that lay before her, needed cheering up. What a brilliant idea, nothing better, she's loved jelly since she was tiny.



What could be easier than making a jelly. I've made and eaten dozens of them, I could say I could make them blindfolded but that's the point, I almost did... Never, ever make your jelly without your glasses on. The oh so simple task of adding hot water to the contents of a packet is deceptively tricky if you can't read the measurements on your measuring jug. There was I gaily adding water and stirring and pouring contents into mould after mould, wondering why a) my jelly seemed to be resembling the everlasting porridge pot and b) questioning the thermostat on the fridge as the jelly just remained as liquid as the day it was born... Several hours and watery jelly moulds later I found my glasses, emptied the bin to retrieve the jelly instructions and realised my mistake. Poor old Big Sister came home in such a mood that I daren't even tell her the story of the jelly that might have been...



Last weekend I not only remembered to buy some more jelly but set to make them with glasses and magnifying glass at hand. Do you know what? This time the jelly only filled one mould! How simple was that? Not that simple, because basking in my reflective glory and smugness I forgot to get the jelly out of the fridge and give it to anyone. It was only the next day that it was found wobbling in all its glory.


Sunday night we had our jelly. Shimmering, jewel like, resplendent in its wobbliness it sat on our table. And then the laughter began... the first little wobble, the first squelch, the sight of the little domes... need I say more?



The exams are now over here, thank goodness. I don't think I have ever seen my daughter work so hard and feel so tired. She asked me the other day if I was proud of her - I couldn't begin to say just how much. It's not the marks that matter, it's the fact that she got through it with more smiles and maturity than we ever imagined, the fact that for hours she sat revising subjects that she neither really understood nor liked and, sorry huge proud mummy moment here, that whenever I look at her I am filled with the deepest pride and love. I only wish there had been a jelly and some of her little sister's mischievous giggles to greet her after every exam.


(We have a selection of jelly moulds in our Scullery

So now the exams are all over, the summer lies ahead and I for one am stockpiling the jelly and waiting for the jelly jokes... you don't need to have an exam to have a wobble!