It was Grandma’s ‘special’ – porridge with a sprinkling of flax, sunflower, sesame and hazelnuts that she reduced to powder in a coffee grinder. Their milk was unsweetened soya. There was no sugar in the house. Grandad came in from the yard dressed in his fishing hat, dungarees and boots, and carrying a handful of eggs. ‘I couldn’t resist when I saw the loaf of brown bread you made, with a hump on it like a railway bridge,’ he said to Grandma. ‘How’s our little man?’ He looked at me. ‘I am feeling grumpy,’ I piped up. ‘Oh, why, Pepe?’ They both stopped and stared at me. ‘Oh, nothing,’ I muttered, spooning my porridge into me, secretly enjoying keeping them in suspense. ‘Come on. Out with it, soldier,’ Grandad said, sitting down in front of a huge bowl of porridge and tapping his spoon into the palm of one hand. ‘I am afraid to go to school, and …’ My voice gave out.
What do You think about A Horse Called El Dorado (2012)?
