Oh dear. Last night Mrs T had one of her major cooking disasters. I decided to cook lamb chops, fried in a little olive oil. (Noticed how delicately I wrote that… as if I actually cared…. )Anyhow this was supposed to be a little treat for my boys as Master Sam has finished his O Levels, Master Jacob received two awards on Saturday for football (Player’s Player and Supporters player) and Master Benedict got Player’s Player for his team. Mrs T was even more pleased because on Friday Master Jacob was asked to train with the County Tennis Squad. Finally. And Mrs T is very, very proud of her little boy because I doubt if there a sweeter, more deserving boy.
Anyhow back to the lamb chops. Well I divided them into two pans. One has more chops in than the other and the one with less in begins to sizzle nicely. Mrs T is pleased; the chops will go very nicely with the oven chips and the imaginary vegetables she can’t be bothered to prepare. (God I love those vitamin tablets) The other is not sizzling. Mrs T, thinking this phenomenon is because there are more chops in one pan than the other increases the temperature and trots into the other room to watch Wimbledon.
A few minutes later Mrs T smells a horrid odour…. Mrs T rushes to the kitchen; it is filled with putrid toxic smoke which is now drifting throughout the house. The chops must be burning…. But …No! The one pan is still full of raw chops and the other is nearly cooked. How can this be when there is choking smoke everywhere? Mrs T is confused…
Hmm….then Mrs T realises she has left one of those black polystyrene type plates they put under the base of pizzas on the hob and since the hob is black Mrs T had not noticed it and put one of the pans on top of it….
Mrs T is obviously completely calm and politely utters “Oh bother and fiddly dee, what a frightful nuisance” thus awakening the attentive Mr T from his comatose state in front of the telly who then proceeds to rush to the rescue….
By which time Mrs T has already removed the raw chop saucepan and put it on to the other hotplate…otherwise none of her lamb chops will be ready at the same time. Oh dear, BIG mistake… Mrs T should have thought it through…. now she has two burning smelly hotplates…
Mr T is not pleased.
Mrs T puts the chops under the grill.
Mr T puts the frying pan into the bin and opens all the doors and windows.
Mrs T serves up “rare” lamb chops, “medium” lamb chops and “well done” lamb chops. She also serves up burnt oven chips. The imaginary vegetables are a complete success though. As are the shop bought lollies.
Mrs T is a tad upset.
Of course there is also another reason why Mrs T is upset…
Why is this I hear you ask?
Mrs T is upset because her boiler has packed up. Yes, it is utterly and totally dead. It is kaput, finito. It has gone to the Big Boiler Heaven in the sky.
It was only 10 years old too which really isn’t that old for a boiler. Mr T is cross because this is proving to be a very expensive year for his wallet and of course now he will have much studying to do while he selects the appropriate replacement. Retailers across the land are at this very moment barricading their doors and purchasing large amounts of cotton wool to stuff in their ears. Many have purchased dark glasses. This is so they can pretend to be security guards instead of consultants just in case Mr T should appear. There has also been a boom in two way radios and tracking devices as they prepare to avoid the verbal onslaught form Mr T …. But Mr T is sneaky, he is cruel… he knows how to stalk a consultant and just as they think they are safe and remove their glasses and head towards the canteen, Mr T will POUNCE…….…
Of course, Mrs T is cross too and also unhappy. In fact I am soo unhappy I have renamed this year “The Year of the Failed Appliances.” This is because I know it will be simply ages before I can wallow in a hot, steaming bath as I am is wont to do while Mr T contemplates the finer details of boiler mechanics. I like a seriously hot bath and although the collage of Mr Brosnan on the wall certainly helps ’tis not the same without scalding water to sooth my world weary limbs…..and I have so much fun with my rubber duck and little sailing boats I will be most disappointed if I cannot resume my wallowing within a reasonable time frame….
Now I have pondered on why the has boiler packed up so dramatically and I’ve come to the conclusion that I had just been doing too much washing and cleaning. The system was obviously under such serious strain it just couldn’t cope anymore. I put this theory to Mr T but for some reason he didn’t believe me. I don’t know why; the entire world knows I’m thoroughly dedicated housewife whose love for the washing machine knows no bounds. I regularly cover it with kisses and even buy it little Christmas presents. (Lime scale remover.) Indeed, I also regularly give it “tips” and frequently I hear it happily rattling a little selection of coins around the drum in appreciation.
Anyway this unhappy situation does mean Mrs T will, by default, be visiting the Gym and Pool more frequently than she has of late which is no bad thing. Mrs T used to go regularly and then she had some problems with her knee caused by falling out of the patio doors, then down the stairs and then finally off her bike. Please note that on none of these occasions was I drunk… everyone always assumes I was. Why is that? Do I sound like a sherry abusing housewife? (Rhetorical question) No, Mrs T never ever touches that wicked stuff! I never let the tiniest drop touch my lip.( A straw so much more convenient - and what’s more - if you take it with you when you go out you can pilfer your companion’s drink while they’re looking at the menu and they will never know.)
The gym is a dangerous place for Mrs T. Oh yes. Because at the gym my competitive spirit at sports which has lain dormant for years suddenly bursts forth; I just can’t help myself from competing with the other swimmers in the pool to see if I can swim faster or longer and usually (I’m bragging here) I win!
Unfortunately though, the average age of my opponents is about 75 so regrettably the feeling of glory doesn’t last very long. (About 10 seconds) Because then the Oldies casually get out of the pool looking all refreshed and saunter off to the Sauna and I’m so bloody exhausted I usually pass out. (This is not a good idea in a swimming pool, especially when there are no life guards to revive you.) In fact I am frequently found floating, arms spread-eagled on the surface, looking like an unconscious hippo. Thank god for those remote cameras in reception, otherwise I could be a dead Mrs T.
Now once I’ve been revived (usually by some kindly geriatric waving a bar of choccy under my nose) I usually make way to the Jacuzzi to relax. This is where I indulge my fantasies. Oh yes and rest assured readers absolutely NONE of them involve young men with pert bottoms; Mrs T is not a cradle snatcher. (No one under 20 anyway - a woman’s got to have some cut-off point – besides I just can’t stand those baggy swimming trunks those young ’uns wear; they are just soooo unflattering.) Now I’m sure I’m not the only one who indulges themselves in a fantasy world in the Jacuzzi so here for your amusement/ horror/ astonishment (delete as appropriate) is my favourite Jacuzzi fantasy
I’m lying on my back floating, the bubbles are sensuously massaging my limbs when lazily I open my eyes and see…. A black and evil looking shark’s fin circling me! The horror! The terror!
I am trapped in a Jacuzzi with a killer shark!
The shark is winding faster and faster around me, getting closer and closer (it’s a big Jacuzzi) and then suddenly it launches itself out of the bubbles. Its big, wet, powerful body flies through the air…
Oh God…no, no, no. …I see it’s a Great White with enormous pointed teeth like daggers ready to rip me mercilessly to shreds! I am mortified…but at the same time I am a real cool swanky bitch (I’ve overdosed on Arnie movies.) So I grab one of the exercise balls left conveniently next to the Jacuzzi and ram it violently into the shark’s mouth where fortuitously it gets stuck on the shark’s teeth driving it into an utter frenzy. It lashes uncontrollably around in the foaming water. At this point Mrs T (with her bulging muscles) wrestles with the Great White and a battle of the titans ensues;
The theme to Rocky plays in the background.…
It’s the Eye of the Tiger…
It's the cream of the fight….
Risin' up to the challenge of our rival
And the last known survivor stalks his prey in the night ……
A bell rings at the end of each vicious and deadly encounter and a devilishly tasty young man in skimpy Speedos parades around the edge of the Jacuzzi with a placard announcing the round numbers on it. (The Great White is furious as there is no equivalent tasty young fish with some seriously shiny scales.) Anyhow, it gets to round fifteen and the Great White is looking ferocious as he can’t stand the vicious and cruel taunting from Mrs T any longer..
“Come on you itsy bitsy fishy, you’re just a teeny weenie tadpole aren’t you? Call yourself a shark? Can’t you swim faster than that? You’re not a shark just a big girl’s blouse! And by the way you need to see some dental work cos your breath stinks!”
The Great White is so incensed and with its jaws outstretched and eyes bulging, it launches itself at me. Casually I leap to one side, poking it brutally in the eye. While it writhes in agony I climb out of the water, grabbing an electric cable and shove it into the water……
Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr…….. The Great White roars in agony and is launched out of the water by the force of the electric shock…
and is splattered, dead, on the cold marble slabs.
Mincemeat. Mrs T is victorious.
I climb back into Jacuzzi and close my eyes. It is warm and therapeutic. I start to doze off when suddenly I hear a little cough… opening my eyes I see Pierce Brosnan is in the Jacuzzi. His torso is looking particularly manly…
Mrs T, suddenly revived, pushes the button to make the Jacuzzi bubble even faster and stronger. The bubbles are erupting like small volcanoes on the surface…
Suddenly Mr Brosnan’s shorts float to the surface……..
Oh….Ummm…. gotta go folks….I’m off to the gym…..
Copyright Jane Turley 2008