You find me world on the sofa, lazily forgetting the piles of ironing, the folding and the washing that I could be doing. Rather I’m watching a film I hated first time around for a second time to placate Pete ready for my weekly Nigella fix on The Taste.
Now my thoughts on La Lawson are on this blog for all to see. I love her. She is charming, humorous, quick witted, poised, interesting and one of life’s battlers. A scrapper. Like Elsie Tanner, a Phoenix who rises from the ashes and embers when others try to burn her down. This is a quality us Brits admire. Whilst our press love to destroy those who rise, we can’t help but doth our caps to those who spite them and rise again. However The Taste has thrilled me. Who knew that a cookery show could be reinvented, X Factor style, and offer us something more. For me, Masterchef is quite a commitment. Not as much as Masterchef Australia which seems to span about 8 months, but still it’s more than one episode per week and I can’t commit that time, I have a dog, gym commitments and Nashville and The Good Wife on my books. But The Taste manages the highs and lows of reality tv in one hour.
We soar when the dishes are delicious, we feel sad when they fail, we enjoy listening to Ludo’s ridiculously broad French accent and everything in between. Huzzah, reality TV. I didn’t think we could exceed the heights set by Kim, Khloe, Kourtney, Kylie, Kendall and Rob Kardashian. And Kris and Bruce Jenner. Poor Rob. Poor poor Rob. I love the Kardashians. And maybe we don’t exceed it with The Taste, no I don’t think we do. But we achieve the very best of what it should be. Pacey, concise, tense, warm and fun. Even when the reality of the reality tv is that it really makes no difference, you feel it does. Like it’s closest competitor The Great British Bake Off, it allows for those who compete to steep in the dream and hope for an alternative career.
I, however, have not accepted any reality tv challenge. I always contemplate it when I see the “applications now open for season X”. And I of course have applied before. I am sure in my own mind I expect a honeyed voiced Bradley Cooper looking gentleman would arrive on the screen in my place. Instead a balding West Midlands ex-pat now located in Sheffield would arrive, dressed like a Dad and probably camp as I dare. I’m not sure how my ego would cope. With a confused regional accent, very poor organisational skills and nothing but the skill to follow other peoples recipes, I’m better off just enjoying my Friday nights stoveside and Sundays baking to Elaine Paige on Sunday.
Alas I missed a lot of EP on Sunday this week as I was at my parents visiting my grandad in Hospital. He is ok, frail but ok. Was very sad to see him in that environment, as one has to relinquish so much control to others. Having has grandad next door to my folks all my life, his care and help has been “in house”. We sorted him. Now it’s over to the nurses. My grandmother doesn’t like that and is struggling to deal with it. The cruelty of age has not been missed on her. And the mammoth task of resuming his care weighs on her mind, however additional help will be offered when that time comes. And it will. Positive vibes for the wonderful Tom, one of the funniest men I’ve ever known. I love him so very much.
The only bonus of this weekend was seeing my family and seeing my daughter reunited with her best mate. That’s right, double doggy time.
Me plus two, pre hair cut.
Dad plus two, post hair cut.
Nan plus two!
Who doesn’t love a double dog fix?
Right dears, it’s over to The Taste for me. Every week I lust for Anthony Bourdain more. He would be a judgmental lover, a critical bedfellow. But my, you’d work hard for his praise. Ok, Adam, you didn’t have to take it there. Mind permanently in the gutter.
Off I go for chocolate week. Ironically whilst not craving any chocolate. Thats some growth there kids, personal growth.
Blog soon folks x
– Fuelled by Waitrose, inspired by Ina, Team Nigella since she deep fried a Bounty