Lunchtime…

…so I went downstairs to make myself a meal. Had thoughts about doing a nourishing, healthy rice/lentils/veggies stew. Inspection of the kitchen cupboards reveal pitiable lack of the first two ingredients. A veggie stew on its own holds no appeal (for this particular veggie anyway), so I look for other sustenance.
Hmm. 2 eggs – but I’m supposed to stay off eggs. No bread – so sandwich-making is out. Plenty of flour – but making a loaf will take all afternoon, and my stomach is growling. Tinned beans? A possibility. A tin of Smash – no way. Tinned beans with lightly boiled veggies? My stomach announces FEED ME – NOW! No time!
How about chapatties? Quick, easy and filling, and I have lots of flour. But how to make them? I dig back in my memories of well-spent squatting/starving hippy/broke single-mother days; I made plenty of chapatties then. But the precise recipe refuses to float to the surface – only a vague recollection of mixing water and flour. OK, so it’s water and flour and a bit of flavouring, cooked in a frying pan – how difficult is that to mess up?
Not all that difficult actually. Half a bag of flour and a very messed-up pan later, and I have a rather small part-burnt lump that is just edible. My stomach is still shouting, so I get out the beans and the Smash. Ten minutes later, my stomach is finally silenced. Leaving me in peace to write out a shopping list for tomorrow.

While I’m on the subject of minor domestic crises, I may very well write a haiku entitled “Upon Discovering That You Left a Wodge of Tissues in the Pocket of Your Best Jeans When You Put Them Into the Wash With a Dark-Blue Bath Towel, A Blue Shirt and Three Pairs of Navy-Blue Socks”. (Although I may have problems stretching “Oh bloody hell” into the required 17 syllables.)