Marrying Off Mother by Gerald Durrell

almost anything from tiny moths and caterpillars to beetles and small centipedes. Once, to my delight, I found a species of earwig that was unknown to me. So breakfast was always a biologically interesting meal. The rest of my family, who, to my chagrin, remained defiantly unzoological, did not share my pleasure at the rich bounty the honey provided.
    It was at breakfast that we read our mail, if any, which arrived once a week. I never got any letters, but used to make up for it by receiving the Animal and Zoo Magazine, together with other erudite literature containing The Adventures of Black Beauty, Rin-tin-tin and similar zoological heroes. As we ate and read, each one of us would read out titbits from letters or magazines for the rest of the family who would remain totally oblivious.
    â€˜Murdoch is publishing his life story,’ Larry would snort. ‘How young do we have to be before inflicting autobiographies on an unsuspecting public? He can’t be more than twenty-four. Can I have some more tea?’
    â€˜There’s a rhinoceros been born at a zoo in Switzerland,’ I would inform my family jubilantly.
    â€˜Really, dear? How nice for them,’ my mother would say, busy with her seed catalogue.
    â€˜They say organdie is coming back into fashion and puffed sleeves,’ Margo would vouchsafe, ‘and about time too, in my opinion.’
    â€˜Yes, dear,’ Mother would say. ‘I’m sure that zinnias would do here. In that bed behind the beehives. It gets a lot of warmth.’
    â€˜I bet my collection of flintlocks would fetch a fortune in England. They’re selling awful-looking ones at fantastic prices,’ Leslie would inform an unlistening audience, browsing through his gun catalogue. ‘That one I got for twenty drachs the other day, I expect in London it would fetch pounds.’
    However, although apparently uncaringly sunk each in our own mail, strangely the family’s antennae would be out and quivering, discarding most of what was said but transforming us into an indignant mob should someone vouchsafe something displeasing. On this particular morning Larry started the whole thing, or to be more honest he lit the fuse that led to the keg of powder.
    â€˜Oh, splendid,’ he said, ‘I’m so glad, Antoine de Vere is coming to stay.’
    Mother peered at him over her glasses.
    â€˜Now, look here, Larry,’ she said, ‘we’ve just got rid of one lot of your friends. I’m not having another lot. It’s too much. It’s too exhausting, what with preparing the food and Lugaretzia’s legs and everything.’
    Larry gave her a pained look.
    â€˜I’m not asking you to cook Lugaretzia’s legs for Antoine,’ he said. ‘I am sure they would be most unsavoury if what she tells me about them is to be believed.’
    â€˜Larry, don’t be so disgusting,’ said Margo primly.
    â€˜I didn’t say anything about cooking Lugaretzia’s legs,’ said Mother, flustered. ‘Apart from anything else, she’s got varicose veins.’
    â€˜I’m sure in New Guinea they would be considered a delicacy. They probably eat them like spaghetti,’ said Larry. ‘But Antoine has a very cultured palate, and I don’t think he’d care for them, even disguised in breadcrumbs.’
    â€˜I’m not talking about Lugaretzia’s veins,’ said my mother indignantly.
    â€˜Well, you were the one who brought them up,’ said Larry. ‘I merely suggested a disguise of breadcrumbs to make them seem more haute cuisine.’
    â€˜Larry, you do make me angry sometimes,’ said my mother, ‘and don’t go about telling people about Lugaretzia’s legs as if they were something I kept in the larder.’
    â€˜Who is this De Vere whatnot, anyway?’ asked Leslie. ‘Another one of those wet pansies, I suppose?’
    â€˜Don’t you know who he is?’ asked