>> Thursday, 17 April 2008
I'm sitting here waiting for the phone to ring. Husband has gone off for the weekend on a charity fancy dress car rally with my brother and a couple of his friends. He left at lunchtime today, telling us not to expect him back until Monday. However, my darling - but occassionally very slightly disorganised - brother is in charge, so when I got a call this evening telling me that the team's car had broken down around 25 miles from where they had met up, I must admit I was not surprised.
The AA are working on the car now. Heaven only knows what they thought when they turned up and were met on the hard shoulder of the M25 by a group of 4 rather middle class blokes dressed as mo'fo' pimps...
Whilst I wait, another gem from around our dinner table. The time: yesterday evening. The occasion: our first family dinner in a week. I had prepared a lovely meal of chicken (sorry to mention the Meat word, Pig in the Kitchen, but it's relevant) roasted in a mustard and marmalade marinade, with mashed potato, carrots, and broccoli. I was being hopeful with the broccoli, I know, but it gave me another bargaining chip in the compulsory negotation of what will and won't be eaten. On top of which, the green looked so pretty on the boy's plates... (And before you ask, the marinade was not my own idea, but it was a triumph).
Boy #2 did his normal party trick of getting stuck in and then spitting anything that required more than minimal chewing into his pelican bib. Lovely.
Boy #1 attacked the potato and carrots with gusto, completely ignoring the broccoli and the chicken. Well, the broccoli embargo I expected, but the chicken?
Me: "Boy #1 - can you try some chicken, please?"
Boy #1: "I don't like it..."
Me: "You haven't even tried it yet. How can you say you don't like it?"
Boy #1: "I just know I don't like it..."
Me: "Try some please, Boy #1. You know what always happens - you try some and then you say: 'Mama! I do like it!'"
Boy #1 regards me soulfully with his big eyes, clearly working out how far he is prepared to push it and at what stage I am - horrors - going to start including the broccoli in our discussion. He heaves a great sigh. "Oh, OK..."
He takes a bite, and chews thoughtfully, resembling nothing so much as one of the Masterchef judges at the semi-finals. Having considered his verdict, he leans toward his father. "Papa. I want to whisper something to you."
Husband turns towards him obligingly. "OK."
Boy #1 gets right up close to Husband's ear, probably spraying the inside liberally with the contents of his mouth, as he says in a loud stage whisper: "Papa. I do like it!"