A cereal OFFENDER

Why Mr Dear needed some snap, crackle and pop

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I came home at about 3pm to find Mr Dear in the kitchen, eating a bowl of Rice Krispies. For reasons that will become clear in due course, this was not a good sign.

‘You all right, love?’ I said in my special sympathetic voice, which is about half an octave higher than my normal voice.

‘I bought some Rice Krispies,’ he said. ‘Suddenly I felt like Rice Krispies. There’s nothing like a bowl of cereal for comfort eating.’

In times of trouble, some men turn to the bottle. Mr Dear reaches out for the nearest packet of Rice Krispies. If things are really bad, he might scatter a few Grape Nuts over them.

‘All right,’ I said.

‘What’s happened?’

Mr D looked at me like a Labrador who has just dropped his favourite soft toy out of the car window. ‘I’ve been sacked by the rugby club,’ he said.

‘Hmmph!’ I said, putting an arm around his shoulders. ‘Frankly, that’s their loss.’

‘Well, obviously. But it’s still annoying.’

For about 20 years, Mr D has held the position of de facto honorary treasurer of our rugby club.

He is really more of a cricket man, and still turns out occasionally as wicketkeeper for the Veterans XI. He last played rugby, for the third team, or possibly the fourths, when he was in his 20s.