Burn, baby, burn...

So the Winter/Spring clothing conflict continues.  I decided today (15 degrees, sunny sky) that I prefer being too warm rather than too cold, so have embraced the thick tight/boot combo for the time being.  Not too much thought has gone into this if I'm honest.  It's just that I look better pink and shiny than blue and pinched.  

Talking of pink and shiny, I went to see Rocky Horror Picture Show again, this time in Oxford with some of the other female inmates of Binland.  The evening started in a bus shelter and ended with some serious hobbling to a taxi rank and a very late night.  In fact, I crawled into bed at 3.00am (this takes into consideration the lost hour) and son number two had to come and get me.  He'd driven back home from Leeds that evening, so his car was nicely warmed up to collect his elderly parent in her sequinned shorts.

And of course it was Mother's Day.  The same day in fact.  Unbelievably,  I had fourteen coming for lunch and in my infinite wisdom, I had allowed the husband to persuade me that he could be responsible for cooking the leg and a half of lamb 'to help me'.  He was very keen to try out his new barbecue and I'm not one to rain on his parade.  This new barbecue is something to behold, and as it looks like an upturned warrior shield, I half expect to see some vikings charging round the corner by my raised vegetable bed every time the husband lights it.

So the lamb was put on the barbecue, while I did everything else, a couple of matchsticks propping open my tired eyes.

We were eating at 2.00, and as I was getting ready to start thinking about the family arriving, the husband came into the kitchen with a crestfallen face.  'You know that leg of pork the Tesco man delivered on Friday?  Can you cook it?'  Having explained to him that I'd put it into the freezer as it was surplus to requirements as there was 'more than enough lamb to go round' and that it would take at least three hours to cook, by which time our guests would probably have gone home (starving hungry) he finally came clean.

It turned out that the lamb had shrunk quite considerably on the barbecue.  Luckily, I am the mistress of the halted calamity, and had stuck a chicken in the oven to roast in anticipation of incineration.

So thankfully, there was more than enough to go round.  As the Mother said as she tucked into her lunch.

'That's a lovely bit of beef'.

'It's lamb, mum', I said.  'Lamb...'

The husband may not get the responsibility of the cooking of my centerpiece again soon...