Goosegog Crumble Ah, we awaited the traditional end to Sunday lunch with some aniticipation in our house. In the days when pubs just opened 12-2pm on a Sunday it meant that Mum would cook a proper Sunday lunch, and all four uf us could eat together when Dad had locked up. We polished off our roast dinner, the table was cleared, a jug of cream was placed in the centre, and the dish of goosegogs crumble was brought from the oven. Then the arguments would start. Mum would dish up, Liz was given a large portion of crumble with no goosegogs, me and Dad would start our traditional Sunday grumbles when our bowls arrived with plenty of green fruit but a rather reduced amount of topping. I mean, we liked the gooseberries, which Liz didn't, but we felt it unfair that she should get half of our topping as well. There was no real spite or malice in the arguing, it was as much a part of our Sunday lunch as the food was. It became a little family tradition, still referred to now if we serve a crumble or spy one on a restaurant menu. If we were having a proper posh lunch, with mints wrapped in foil at the end, it was also traditional to flick the balled up foil wrappers at each other, and mostly at Mum, until we all had fits of laughter and she scooped them up in mock annoyance. It's now nearly a year since Mum died, and although recounting these little episodes have brought tears to my eyes, I only seem to have happy memories of my Mother. There were a lot of happy times in our house.