Thursday, December 31, 2009


Call my bluff

I don't cook for the family that often. When I do, the last thing I like to have is other family members in the kitchen. More specifically, Joe and the dad, who are an insufferable pair of know-it-alls and guaranteed, if allowed to do so, to start bending my ear about what I should be doing.

Yesterday, Joe and the dad came round for casserole. The mum picked both of them up from their respective accommodation and brought them back to 112. Then all three of them immediately gravitated to the kitchen while I was in the latter stages of preparing the feast.

I gnashed my teeth.

"There's quite a lot of people in here, all of a sudden," I said.

The mum took this as her cue and made herself scarce. The other two remained, hovering.

"Yes, you two can bugger off as well," I said, perhaps a little more succinctly.

Out they went. The dad was gone for fully 30 seconds before he came back in on some pretext.

"I will gut you like a fish," I told him, brandishing a wooden spoon to add emphasis to my threat.

"You've never gutted a fish in your life," he scoffed.

"Well then," I said. "You may presume that I shall make a very messy job of it."

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