staying out of the kitchen

Well here I am manfully making my way through another slab of home-made ginger-loaf and a cuppa. No one appreciates the enormous sacrifices I make to avoid lacerating the cook's delicate sensibilities. But I will soldier manfully on, even through the mountain of prawns fried in piri-piri oil that I will be forced to devour tonight. Poor me... ;-). Going from my sister who won't boil an egg if she can avoid cooking, to my bruv – who likes to cook nearly as much as I do, is hard on the waistline. I'm feeling a desperate need for exercise I won't get for a few days. My brother, more by accident than design has ended up with his own pub and restaurant 68 on Main – where I spent the morning. In theory anyway I was going to absorb grist for my mill (a writer always needs to know more, and as a writer who loves to cook, doubly so.) In practice I mostly stayed out of the kitchen. It was fairly busy and the last thing they needed was another person there. So I worked on my waistline, which doesn't need help. James has gone up to the 'berg with his cousin and Marcus – where after their early start (read dawn-for-a-19-year old – ie. 9 AM (picture teenager making sign of a cross and backing away fearfully)) they got there in time for the mid-day thunderstorm. The first 8 hours (since dawn) had been hot and perfect, but these seldom last in our mountains in summer. The wind and rain came along just in time to greet them.