Feeling rather organised, I did my supermarket order on Friday night for delivery Saturday lunchtime. Knowing that daughter number one and son number one were back in residence, I had worked out what I was going to cook for dinner each night for the coming week, taking special care to pick healthy and nutritious meals for us all. (This wouldn't be my choice, but as daughter number one is a PE teacher, I can't be blamed for her not being able to keep up with the 13 year olds she teaches. I mean, no one likes a podgy PE teacher shouting 'Wait for me!' do they?)
I headed off for the usual Saturday family breakfast with Miss R, Mrs W and the mother. Mrs Jangles wasn't there as she'd had a better offer (coffee in bed and some antibiotics I believe) but the chat flowed as usual, and we put the world to rights over tea and toast. There was a small child breaking the sound barrier on the table next to us, and Miss R who is sensitive to this kind of noise, suggested that a new venue might be on the cards, now that they were allowing children in.
So my shopping was due to be delivered between 2.00-3.00. After an hour of pacing the hallway, looking at my watch, I headed back to the laptop to see if I'd got the time wrong. Well it turned out that the time was right, but the payment card I had saved had expired four months ago (shows how long it is since I've used it) so my shopping was currently doing a sightseeing tour around Oxfordshire in the back of a lorry, being unloaded and reloaded at each of the driver's stops. He was probably kicking and swearing at it each time he moved it out of the way, so I was expecting a few broken eggs and dented avocados. Unfortunately, by the time the supermarket got hold of the driver, it was too late to ask him to do a U-turn back to me, so it's been pushed over for delivery today.
Discussing this with the offspring, it appears that daughter number one will not be eating at home at all this week. She has 'things planned' after school (probably Homework Club, Trampolining and Gluing 'n' Sticking). Turns out that the husband, son number one and I could have eaten our usual meat and two veg quite happily rather than heading down the 'food my food eats' route. I would love to see the essay which started...'Lettuce...Discuss'. It would probably be a bit wishy washy with little substance, a bit like the lettuce I suppose. Give me a roast potato any day of the week.
Talking of health foods and other things I don't quite get, she has left a plastic container of something on top of the kitchen cupboard. I thought it was hundreds and thousands for sprinkling over iced cakes, but apparently it's some kind of grain. Reassuringly, she wasn't 100% sure what it was, so I expect it will stay there until one of us is brave enough to admit that we're never going to eat it, at which point it will be sprinkled down the waste disposal in the sink.
The container might be useful though.
I like to picture it full of Maltesers...