Mum and I have come to an agreement. In return for not doing my piano practice before 10am I will be fed. And I am to share the cooking (which I must say is a profound relief, especially as regards the humble egg, which it is impossible to boil properly in two minutes unless it was laid by a pullet with dwarfism.) I am now reading mum’s only cookery book – “One-minute Family Meals for Busy Housewives” – and I shall have to hide it. Much of its advice is directed at the safe removal of plastic film and the hygienic disposal of polystyrene trays. Mum must spend a fortune on ready meals in boxes, and they are still served either cold or burnt.
I shall borrow a proper cookery book from the library and learn the culinary arts in full. I have over a week to master them before school resumes. I will ask the librarian if they have a book on cooking for church organists lurking among the car repair manuals and romantic novels. If, that is, the library still bothers to have books at all.
Boiled myself one of the eggs I was sent out to purchase when mum finally inched her way gingerly downstairs at 9:30am. Delicious, and done to perfection in three and three quarter minutes exactly.
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