This was my entry for the Ad Hoc Flash Fiction Competition, week of 11 April 2018. It didn’t win but was long-listed and published in the ebook. Each submission has to be 150 words or less. 

Parsley, sage, rosemary, thyme.

A veritable witches’ brew, you informed me. Before, they were just the words to my favourite Simon & Garfunkel song. One that now conjures up the spectre of a medieval abortionist.

They’re herbs, you explained. But, of course, I already knew that. It’s just that I preferred them abstract, as words not yet tasted.

Except for the parsley, which I do remember. An anniversary lunch in Oxford, slightly bitter, green flakes floating in an indeterminate sauce. It aids digestion, you said.

You were right, of course. As always. I need to expand my horizons. And here I am, a twenty-first century wise woman, channelling my inner Nigella.

Sainsbury’s were out of rosemary. A pity, given it symbolises fidelity (thanks for telling me that). But the sage should mask my other ingredients.

Bridge over Troubled Waters is playing in the background. Time to get cooking.