Our Ali

Our Ali’s a bonnie wench and no mistaking.  She makes everyone in the village call her Alizon as she thinks it sounds much grander than Ali.  And that pride’s always been her downfall.  She’s eighteen years, if I’ve counted up right, and since she turned twelve she’s earned more money than the rest of us put together.

You’d think a lass with those curves would have suitors falling all over themselves, but there’s summat about Ali that puts the lads off – and not just her slattern reputation!  She’s got the finest light brown hair and big wide eyes, and you can see from her arms that she’s strong and capable.  But she’s also got a wicked tongue and won’t take No! for an answer.  Of course, that’s what got us all in this mess in the first place.  She can’t keep her gob shut and she likes to brag.  Silly baggage.

Her black dog’s called Nip – an apt name for the snarly creature – and she doesn’t go anywhere without him.  Since we’ve been put in the castle it’s the first time they’ve ever been parted so I hope my son Chris can handle the mutt while we’re gone.

I must admit, our Ali’s got the gift alright – she’s a real chip off the old block when it comes to cunning.  It’s a pity she’s not more kindly disposed to Jenny, but I’ve never known two sister who hate each other like they do.  Her only mate’s Cousin Gracie – our Chris’ lass from Hay Booth.  I’m dead surprised they’ve not rounded her up too, but I’m glad at least one of my granddaughters won’t be standing trial.

Alizon