Soup by request

I've been asked to post on soup and I almost always do what I'm told. Not that I have any lovely recipes to share or recommendations on which spoon to use in a fancy restaurant. I have two soup anecdotes and I shall share one of them which perhaps reveals a little of myself, although neither of my soup stories are what you might class World Beaters.

When I was a kid my family would go down to Swanage every year and stay with my Dad's Dad. It was reasonably pleasant, if you discount the time the gear box broke and we tried to drive all the way home in fourth gear. We'd have made it too if it wasn't for the damned Dartford Tunnel.

The advantage of Swanage (apart from the fact that board and lodging was presumably free) was that it has lovely beaches (where I almost drowned) and Corfe Castle (which for a child is a very exciting place to visit). I have fond memories of hot summers and splashing about in the sea although we stopped going when I was about eleven I guess.

Anyway, Granddad asked me whether I liked tomato soup and I must have seemed keen as come tea time out it came from the kitchen. Much to my horror there were tomatoes in it! People, this was not Heinz at all, but *home made*.

To this day I remember tasting it and feeling sick with horror because there were *bits in it* and it had an overwhelming taste of, well, garden grown tomatoes. I regret to inform you dear reader that I may not have seemed as grateful as I might have been.

The amount of time, energy and care that had gone into growing and making this meal was wasted on me and certainly every part of me wished they'd opened a tin of proper soup so I had something I could actually eat. You'll be pleased to hear that this ungrateful wretched was slapped silly, although in my defense this was the first time I'd ever encountered home made soup.