Roast Chicken



Sunday/Monday

Roast chicken. Yes, I agree: strange to have this on a Monday night, but in the frenzy of Battenburg-making yesterday, we forgot to feed the children so it needs using up tonight. 

Daisy came in at some point (the crucial point where Tom was trying to wrap the cake in marzipan) and announced loudly that she was hungry. For goodness sake, child! Can you not see we’re trying to assemble a cake here! She left the kitchen looking dejected. Clearly her parents had other priorities. 

When Tom and I finally emerged from our Battenburg-fog, we realised it was late and everyone was starving. There was of course cake, but man cannot live on cake alone, so the kids were offered pasta with grated cheese and a handful of frozen sweetcorn for good measure. 

Ollie laboriously ate around every piece of sweetcorn. He cannot abide ‘acorns’ one bit. Tom had a piece of anaemic-looking battered cod from the depths of the freezer and some sad looking chips: we definitely deserve something decent tonight.

We get home from school and I have grand plans for putting manure on the raspberry canes, but actually I’m whacked. I’ve been rushing round like a blue-arsed fly all day and there’s shopping to be put away and a chicken to roast. 

The children are becoming slightly demanding so I give them their new red noses for Friday’s Comic Relief and this sets them off on a Red Nose Day frenzy. Daisy makes Comic Relief banners and Ollie draws red noses. They race upstairs and get dressed in red outfits, ready for the big day. Ollie is horribly confused singing ‘Yeah! It’s  Red Nose Day!” at the top of his voice. He’s peaked too soon and I will pay the price before the week is out.



Tom arrives home just in time to make gravy. I can make gravy, but he can REALLY make it. We sit down ravenous, except for Ollie who refuses to eat. His red nose keeps falling in the gravy and is confiscated to the top of the fridge. This triggers a family meeting: Daisy does not feel Ollie is being disciplined effectively.



 I decide to piggy-back on to this with my grievences: 1) electricity consumption – can people please turn off lights? (2) grumpiness in the mornings – can people (children) please be nice to their mother? and (3) toothbrushes – can people stop leaving them lying round the sink?

By point (2) on the made up agenda I’m wishing we hadn’t started down this family meeting path. Daisy is eloquently arguing that the reason she’s so grumpy in the mornings is because her bedroom is like an ice palace (it is). I hastily clear the table and put down the remaining Battenburg. Fortunately this has the desired effect of quietening everyone down. 

After dinner, Tom ‘rips and strips’ the chicken. He once had a job title of the same name during a brief stint at a chicken factory,  but he’s so traumatised by the experience that we’ve never got to the bottom of what they ACTUALLY made him do there.

He put the carcass on to boil and this all sets us up nicely for tomorrow’s dinner: a delious medley of chicken, roasted pumpkin and feta. 

Good night. X

 

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