It’s baffling to me why any other week I can find myself showered, dressed, downstairs with tea and toast watching BBC Breakfast at 8.30am on a Saturday, except for the week whereI have to drive to my mum and dads and have a full day planned. I’m writing at 10.20am and Pete has not even got in the shower yet.
I’m dressed, showered, fed and caffeinated, which was essential. Pete has taken to handing out domestic chores as if I’m Ruby in Upstairs, Downstairs and he is Jean Marsh. I’m currently rebelling writing this as I have been charged with cleaning the top of the stove. Ooh, scandal.
I tried to aerobic style class, Body Attack again last night. Why, i’m still pondering this myself. Coordination is key. And I lack this in spades. I have about as much ability to move side by side, front and back, do a superman pose and start off the right leg as a deaf blind double amputee. I’m beyond uncoordinated. And to add insult to injury, there was a track in the middle dedicated to the press up. The one exercise that was used by gym teachers to separate the wheat from the chaff at school, to emphasise quite how unfit some of us were, for four solid minutes, to the disappointing duet between Girls Aloud and Sugababes. Horrid. Vile. Over a mat that showed the sweat pouring off my forehead in greater clarity than the wooden would otherwise have done. Damn that floor’s discretion.
But got some good news yesterday. Guess what’s returning to our screens? Nigel Slater’s Simple Suppers! Love it. Slightly posh, owner of the same Nigella measuring jug I have, lovely kitchen, and more recipes I’m destined to want to try but immediately forget as soon as he has made them. It is double exciting because it’s also slightly nostalgic for me as series one was showing when I still lived on my own in my flat, so it reminds me of nights in on my own, watching a cookery programme eating some indulgent treat I had picked up from Sainsburys on my journey home. Cannot wait.
Ina last night was vintage 2003 Ina. It’s made me realise how many times she has rehashed that roast chicken recipe. At least four times to my knowledge. She seems younger now than she did then, are far more comfortable in front of the camera. She did a little odd to camera thing of putting a chIcken carcass in the freezer, which they quickly got rid of, as Jeffrey was calling Ina to bed, in a seductive fashion. I don’t wish to sound prudish, but that was entirely unnecessary. I’m sure they are still a passionate couple, they do enough feeding one another to count as foreplay enough for a dozen couples. But I don’t need to hear the come to bed cries of Jeffrey Garten. I shall paraphrase the immortally fabulous Pat Phoenix here, when I say the rest should be left to your imagination dear. And I was not going to go in that direction, if I’m honest with you.
Off to the motherland now. T K Maxx’s dedicated home store beckons. It’s like someone has seen my dreams and created my visions. Cannot wait.
– Posted using BlogPress from my iPad