So - after a fortnight's shopping, cooking and freezing I was pushed out of the kitchen at the last minute and Bert took over. I already had the oven loaded with the children's food, pigs in blankets and shepherd's pie. By the time I realised what was going on Bert had all my gorgeous food back in the freezer and the adults also ate pigs in blankets. I think one of them might have got a portion of the shepherd's pie. They also ate some kind of a lacklustre salad, something entirely vile called 'chicken balls' and some insipid naan bread courtesy of Mr Asda. No one got to taste my vegetable curry, Bulgarian chicken or my spicy Caribbean beef. My parboiled potatoes were not roasted. My home made garlic bread was barely tasted. They didn't heat up my delicious red cabbage and no one fancied it cold.
What was I doing while Bert was barking orders in the kitchen? I was conducting wine tastings with some carefully selected and appreciative people, the kind of people that do not eat Asda chicken balls. I served the damson first, They were in ecstasies. Then it was the blackberry and raspberry. It was pronounced even better. By the time we were on the raspberry they were in country wine heaven. Swisser even offered to give me high sums for the rest of it. I told her it was beyond price.
Best bit? Miss Martha singing 'You Are My Sunshine' accompanied by Marty on the banjo.
Evie's best bit? Chicken balls.
Worst bit? When Jazzer got her mitts on Bert's clarinet and created a racket that sounded like a large drake in a bog being run over by a John Deere tractor.