Thursday, 9 July 2015


There is a scurrilous rumour that Flatcap cannot look after himself. Well, with Her Indoors in Benidorm last weekend, the time came for me to shoot those naysayers down. I can take care of myself, and I was out to prove it.
I saw her off in the middle of the night, came home and went back to bed. Getting up a few hours later, I felt a bit peckish. At this point, I could have nipped down to Tesco and bought breakfast, but I thought, no. I’ll do it myself, and I opted for beans on toast.

The first problem I came across was how to stop the beans sliding off the bread in the toaster. Toasters tend to operate vertically, and no matter how hard I tried, the beans slid down and sank to the bottom.
Being of a mechanical bent, problem-solving comes quite naturally to me. Over a cup of tea I tossed the matter around my head, and came to the conclusion that I should lay the toaster on its side.
Not a good idea. The side get too hot for the MDF of the worktop. It’s a wonder the kitchen didn’t catch fire before I went back to the drawing board.
Then I realised that I didn’t have to use the toaster. We have a perfectly good stove with a grill and while it’s not quite as efficient as a toaster, it could certainly do the job.
This time I did get flames, and the one solid conclusion I reached was that while fire-extinguisher foam may look like clotted cream, and set like a tasty meringue, it lacks somewhat in the taste department.
Chucking the beans on toast in the bin, after breakfast in Tesco, I came home with the minimum groceries I would need for four days alone. This included a tin of spam, a wedge of Double Gloucester and several packs of McCain microchips. They taste like shit but you can hardly go wrong warming them up in microwave, can you?
Well, you can if you press the wrong switch on the wall and put the washing machine on instead. I only learned this after digging out the tool box and taking the wall plug to pieces, by which time my three-minute microchips had defrosted without any assistance because they’d been out of the freezer so long. The upside, if you can call it such, was that next week’s underwear had been thoroughly washed and Her Indoors only needed to iron it all when she got home.
By Saturday, suffering from near malnutrition, I decided it was time to open the Double Gloucester and put together a cheese and tomato sandwich. Even I couldn’t get that wrong.
The bread was fresh, the cheese was superb, as I anticipated, but the tomatoes… they were garbage. They were just like a red pulp.

Now, I know what you’re gonna say. It was me again, but you’re wrong. They were like that when I emptied them out of the tin.

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