It has now been a week since Elly went to the US for the IVF and contrary to the predictions of just about everyone that knows me, I haven’t starved to death.
In the last weeks I have received multiple dire warnings from various people (YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE!!!) about poor dietary standards, the dangers of junk food and how E numbers will make me grow an extra arm that sticks out of my left ear.
Yet I’m still here!! There any many old people who will rattle on for hours about how they attribute a long life to eating carrots, licking toads or drinking a bottle of scotch a day but I’ve found a much better way of dealing with the ever present problem of what, and how, to cook.
Yes folks, by the time you slide a couple of hours of graft into the evening’s proceedings it’s too late to eat so it’s easier not to bother. It’s all a bit strange really, I feed the cats (at least twice) but forget to feed myself.
Basically, I blame genetics. I have a gene that renders me incapable of using the cooker. This is exacerbated by the fact that the cooker hates me – for instance, the boil-in-the-bag pizza says “bung in oven for 20 mins at 200 degrees” but what it doesn’t say is, if it’s Crussell’s cooker only do it for 7.34 mins otherwise it’ll look like something that’s been napalmed to death.
This is due in no small part to the fact we have a “turbo” oven. Now, I always associated the word turbo with speed rather then degrees of incineration so it’s a bit mystifying, also the lack of any network connection, keyboard or monitor adds new layers of complexity.
Worse still, the kitchen appliances are ganging up against me, in recent times the cooker has had a word with the toaster which now only toasts one side of the bread. In the night, the appliances whisper to one another … but they don’t think I can hear them …
However, the other night I had Spaghetti Bolognese which impressed Elly, till I let slip that it was out of a tin – some people are never satisified…