Today Mrs H started her first day at her new works. Off she
popped at the crack of dawn and that was that for the next 8 hours.
All I had to do was empty the bin, do the recycling, walk
the dog and make the tea.
Bins and recycling are a doddle. No problems here!
The dog almost walks himself and what with the campsite
being almost empty, I had all day to get the tea ready.
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| I've got a bad feeling about this... |
Can you guess what task I managed to bugger up?
Here’s a clue – it was tonight’s tea.
I wasn’t making my world famous Spam pasta (for which the recipe
is knocking about on the internet somewhere) nor was I doing Chicking-Junk
(another of my amazing meals, which I may do as a post sometime!)
No. I was due to make that extravagant and complicated
juggling act known the world over as spag bol.
And I screwed it up.
My first mistake was thinking I was making chilli con carne.
That’s were it all started. Having measured out a bowl of rice using my own
method of one handful of rice per person plus half a hand for Jesus (you never
know when he’s going to turn up) I stared blankly and pondered...
“Me not makey chilli con con? Me makey stringy meat meat.” I
thought to myself.
At this (very early) point in proceedings I started to smell
burning beef.
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| Thats ME! |
Bugger.
In true Frank Spencer fashion I poured the rice back into
the rice container, hit my head on the open cupboard door, flipped the meat and
burnt my hand, dropped a fork onto the dogs head (he is fine) and grabbed some
spaghetti and threw it into a pan of boiling water. (At least I got that bit
right)
Mrs H was not due for at least.... oh crap. How long is she
going to be? I had no idea. It could be 20 minutes, it could be 2 hours.
As I continued to panic and cook (that’s how I roll)
everything seemed to be going OK. The smoke alarm didn’t set itself off in a
tizzy which makes me think it needs new batteries.
Just as I put the garlic bread into the oven, Mrs H walks in
and the dog go nuts.
“Tea will be ready in ten minutes. There’s a glass of wine
on the table for you.” I say as I try to look as nonchalant as possible, while picking out the little burnt bits of beef pepper and onion.
The reply from Mrs H was thus “Did you put any garlic in it
this time.”
Shityshityshityshityshityshit.
I had not put any garlic in anything.
In my defence I had grated some cheese and done the washing
up.
I had also done the bins, sorted the recycling and walked
the dog.
It has been a busy day.
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| The Dog ate what ws left, so at least he liked it. |
I am stupid.