The cupboard under the stairs

Between the ages of six months and eight years, I lived in a semi-detached house on Eton Avenue in New Malden. Upstairs there were three - two and a half, really - bedrooms, and a separate bathroom and a toilet. I can remember when most people's houses were like that and then everyone started combining the facilities. This was years before downstairs loos became all the rage so there was a very inconvenient period where you couldn't go to the loo if someone was in the bath. (And people were commonly in the bath because showers were still a new and exciting idea.)

Anyway. Downstairs there was a living room and a dining room (with an open fire) and a small kitchen. In fact, when I hear or read the word galley, that kitchen often springs to mind. And then there was the cupboard under the stairs. 

There was always something mysterious to me about the cupboard under the stairs. I'm not sure why. We kept our coats in there and, probably, the hoover. It only held any particular interest for me in the period leading up to Christmas, as it was where my mum kept the Christmas cake. I remember the little model figures we had that went on top and also how much I loved the icing. I use to break off and eat the points, thinking that wouldn't be noticed.

But one year, a shallow crate of apples appeared in the cupboard under the stairs. They were the wrong colour for apples and also their skin looked slightly baggy. They were like apples that had reached old age. I remember thinking they weren't for me but one day either hunger or, more likely, boredom drove me to give one a try. It was delicious!

I hadn't thought about these apples - "russets" - for years until I was in Asda, today. There was a pack of six on the shelf. I had one this afternoon and it was wonderful.

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