Tuesday June 21, 2005
I should have gone out provisioning today and there was no good reason beyond residual heat and humidity why I didn’t. Truth is I simply couldn’t drag my act together sufficiently to get the job done. The penalty was a truly horrid dinner, of frozen chicken breasts of such low quality I’d not feed ’em to a cat. Well, not my cat, anyway. I should have thrown them in the bin and rustled up hash and eggs but instead we sat down and munched dutifully through the pallid, tasteless things.
“That was not very nice,” I said, apologetically.
“We’ve had better.”
“Nothing wrong with them, but nothing right, either. Can’t quite describe…”
“Think MacDonald’s chicken burger.”
“Ah. Yes. The chicken that could be fish. Or bleached beef. Or anything.”
“You got it. Taste-free nutrition.”
“I’ll do better tomorrow.”
“I shall come to Tesco’s with you to make sure.”
No harm came from our meal. Just a feeling of having been cheated, is all, and I hate that. Tomorrow I shall do one of my famous throw-everything-in salads to at least partially redress the balance. Unless the weather does a dramatic change it’ll not be cool enough for a major cooking session and that’s what we really deserve.
“Oh, bugger,” I said last thing before shutting down for the day.
“We’re low on milk. I really ought to have gone shopping today.”
All in all it’s been a boring, unsatisfactory day and, at the end of it, I’m not in the least reluctant to apply head to pillow.