The Sunday Roast.

Sunday Roast.


As Jamie and Ennes are working all the time, it seems as if I have been volunteered to do all the cooking.

I have always thought that ladies make this pleasurable past-time something like rocket science.

This morning I assembled all the ingredients together in little more than ten minutes.

The only difficulty I had was with roast potato’s, according to the packet all you had to do was to remove them from the plastic wrapper and cook them.

I know I am not the most practical man, but I managed to cut my finger on the razor-sharp edge of the cooking tray supplied.

Every-thing else took just minutes to prepare, I must say that the makers of the packets containing the ready-made gravy, the precooked beef joint, frozen peas, carrots, and the precooked Yorkshire puddings, made their packets so much easier to open.

Everything in the oven at the same time, what’s not to like


I can hear you scoffing Eddi, but it was you who destroyed my cooking confidence, just because of the burnt chicken, the cinder-topped lasarrrngia.

And I still say, that it said on the spaghetti packet to cook it for ten minutes, it said nothing about actually placing it in the boiling water, so steaming it seemed the way to go.

Little ‘Clever-Dick’ Deni, took great delight in telling me that the spaghetti was a bit brittle, but Kian, ever the diplomat said.

“Don’t worry Grandad, I like your cooking it’s so exciting, all those lovely little burny black bits, they are the best”.



It’s so nice when the youngest member of our family, looks after the oldest one.




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