Have you heard the Tommy Cooper joke: “I had a dream last night, I was eating a ten pound marshmallow. I woke up this morning and the pillow was gone” ?
I thought of it in the early hours of this morning when my baby in marshmallow coloured pyjamas decided it would be better to chew my pillows rather than fall back asleep after her feed. I wonder what she dreamt of when she did finally drift off an hour and half later.
As I’m writing this I’m eating my own marshmallow, a Gandour one, my new favourite Lebanese treat- very similar to the chocolate teacakes you find in the UK but better, with no biscuit and stickier marshmallow. We discovered them last week when on his way home from a jog my husband went to buy wine in one of the few shops that sells alcohol in our mainly Muslim neighbourhood. He came back with a bottle of red and one of the foil wrapped mallows.
I’ll explain later!
While he showered after his run, I made up my own explanation, thinking that they must have been short of change and given it to him in place of a 500 lire coin. But it turned out I was wrong. The shopkeeper, who had lived in Italy for 8 years, was overcome with emotion when he discovered my husband’s nationality and gave it to him as a gift. Oh how the Lebanese love the Italians! And oh how I love marshmallows!