(Impromptu earlier, but was eventually very tasty.)

Ingredients:

• The remains of a roasted chicken, preferably with some meat and skin left on;
• Roasted potatoes;
• Cooked carrots;
• Cooked broccoli;
• Slice of bread, white squishy;
• Vegetable stock cube;
• Jalapeño chilli jam (best measured from a squeezy bottle);
• Tomato ketchup, squeezy;
• Rosemary, from a spice pot;
• Salt, to taste;
• Pepper, a tiny amount.

Preparation:

1. Boil half a pan of water in a kettle,
2. Dump the chicken into the saucepan,
3. Cook it to a rolling boil then let simmer for a while,
4. When the colour of the liquid evens out then sieve the solids out from the pan over another, separate out the meat and return it and the liquid to the main pan, and discard the bones, skin & cartilage*,
5. Add the stock cube and rosemary to the main pan and continue to simmer,
6. Add the potato, carrots & broccoli and boil until simmering again, then then turn down the heat,
7. Add the bread (to thicken), making sure it’s thoroughly mixed in,
8. Add the chilli jam and ketchup, both a single circular squirt,
9. Er…
10. Eat!

*Tried at this point it’s a bit weak and watery, but at least it tastes of chicken.

Due to the generosity of a man I cannot name to protect his identity[efn_note]But whose name is a homophone of a 'Wallace & Gromit' character.[/efn_note] I am the lucky recipient of a white Twix. 2 fingers too!

Arriving at work today with 30p and needing >70 to buy nearly everything in the confounded snack machine, the man arrived at precisely the right time.

I shall savour it during the next 2 working hours.

Addendum: After some time I caved and ate half a finger. It took 3/4 hour for it all to go. And the verdict?

…

Worth what I paid.

Previously…

The local chip shop has been selling Greek-style chicken and donner kebabs for a few weeks now, as a sideline. My first ever chicken kebab, a week after they started, was utterly wonderful; a shame I only had 3/4 of it after sharing with daughter 2 and some of my meat with my mother-in-law.

About 4 weeks ago I had my second, a donner, again with salad, fluffy flatbread and sweet chilli sauce. Not as good as the chicken though, it has to be said.

Today, after a too-long hiatus, I had another donner kebab (the chicken had sold out.)

Now, it’s been suggested that eating a kebab from a tray with a blue plastic fork is ‘wrong’, that eating one on a plate with metal cutlery is also ‘wrong.’ So today I took a saner man’s suggestion and upped my game by eating it on a big plate with the shiny cutlery, crucially whilst wearing a (quilted) smoking jacket and toting a pipe.

Er… ok, I don’t have a smoking jacket or a tobacco pipe, so made do with this bubble wrap and a yellow Kazoo!

Full.

Content.

I remember the trials and tribulations attempting to drink Maker's Mark bourbon before I gave it away; I remember well the aroma from the empty glass the following morning. Amazing.

On a whim, as an entirely unsuitable substitute after my failure to find white squishy bread on the day the shops failed (laid waste in a manner reminiscent of the film '28 Days Later', but people will probably remember it as 'Friday'), I bought a bottle of Jack Daniels Honey.

The aroma is very reminiscent of my memory of Maker's Mark, half a day later; it's also a very effective alcopop.

Tonight we visited the local cricket club's annual bonfire and firework display for the funfair rides, hook-a-duck attractions and food stalls. Always a grand occasion.

I spent time during the firework display casually pointing out to the girls the importance of standing back from fireworks, all the rest, and literally pointing out the respect the technicians had for the explodey-things. We might get some fireworks tomorrow, but no bangs.

Afterwards we returned home and settled down to comfort Ruby dog after all the bangs in her neighbourhood, and I settled down to some Hallow'een-pumpkin soup, the best soup I'd made in my life. Really, we'd tried it earlier and it was, mmmm…

I put the heat under the soup, sorted the girls clothes out, put the recycling in bins, then went upstairs to change and pee, leaving the girls to make warm drinks.

A little while later… I sniffed, "Delicious."

A first: I'd burnt the soup.

Sod it, I'll add a drink to the food order; the tablets say I can have a drink!

Woodford Reserve rye whiskey.

There is no contraindication so don't worry, but I doubt the manufacturer would want to encourage irresponsible behaviour. No, in answer to the question I sense forming, the tablets don't talk to me, that'd be a bit weird.

When ordering food for other people or for myself and others I'm unlucky.

The modern world is set up to make things easy for those who would let others take the strain of food preparation: go out to eat, or pick up the phone or electronic device, speak or blindly stab at buttons until something vaguely resembling a meal is concocted, then sit and wait. And occasionally peer out of the window if within the comfort of home, as if that will speed up the delivery process.

In theory it's foolproof. But no. For when I get involved it all turns to sh…

It'll either have not quite what was ordered, or something completely random thrown in, or it'll be late when visitors need to go home right after the meal we've spent seconds preparing.

When we're out anywhere my wife knows to order for the girls and herself and leave mine to me. It all arrives exactly as ordered, all of it, even mine.

Even some colleagues now know not to trust me, especially since the now slightly-famous 'non-popped egg yolk down the front of the shirt incident' of September 2017!

Unlucky Baz?

Drunk neat after Nice’n’Spicy NikNaks, it’s indescribable.

Also, Ruby dog is no longer fazed by me swinging my bits about, barely-contained within a dark grey dressing gown, whilst shouting “sniff my cheeeese!”