Rhubarb for Tea

I knew something was up the minute I walked through the door. Mum was sat in her chair looking into the fire.

‘Alright, son?’

‘Alright, mum. What’s going on?’

‘Your dad’s through in the kitchen. He’s chopping up rhubarb, and then he’s doing the tea.’

Sure enough I could hear the sound of determined chopping coming from the kitchen. Every now and again there was a grunt, followed by yet more hacking. Dad seemed to be having a workout.

I went through to the kitchen.

Dad was using a cleaver to chop up Rhubarb.

Rhubarb was a great wee dog.