Saturday Pâté

Photo © Rob Jones

Hot & generously, (very generously buttered) toast triangles with a paving slab of pâté.

Once the colder months made their presence felt then, as a kid, I knew that the warming tea treats on a weekend weren't far away.

Some Saturdays were spent travelling to a football match in which my father would be playing. Gloves were a necessity on an autumn afternoon on the touch line.

There were other weekends which saw him on the edge of an icy field to watch me play hockey for the school, (centre half, thanks for asking). One time during a match I lost a contact lens on a muddy pitch but, somehow, managed to retrieve it. I spat on a tissue, wiped it & put it back in. Don't judge me, I was young & we were on the verge of victory.

Post-match there was always a thermos of tea to hand for either the football or the hockey to assist the thawing of the face, arms & legs.

And then when we got home, ahead of the main evening meal, there would be a comforting something to tide you over. Sometimes Spam on toast or Marmite but my favourite was Chicken Liver Pâté.

White bread toasted & then smothered with Country Life & thickly sliced smooth chickeny parfait. One slice, quartered would see you right.

On the telly as you ate there was Grandstand for the football results as our voracious appetites kicked in.

If Nanna was round at ours, Frank Bough didn't get a look in. It had to be Dickie Davies for the wrestling on ITV's World of Sport. No debate.

Mick McManus was her favourite.

AMM