I really don't like cooking you know. I've tried and I've tried and occasionally I can find myself enjoying it but mostly it feels like a chore, much like washing your hair. It's one of those things you've got to do but you don't ever really feel like doing it.
I wish that meant that I didn't like eating but unfortunately it's not the case. I sometimes wonder if, left to my own devices, I'd just sit and eat outrageous amounts of toast, salad and crisps.
Actually I don't wonder at all - I'm home alone tonight and have just eaten beans on toast. I felt proud of myself for grating cheese.
But I'm lucky really, The Person actually enjoys cooking. He loves sitting and sifting through cookery books, looking up recipes online, chopping things and throwing stuff in a pan, putting things in an oven and all manner of spatula-related kitchen wizardry.
And so I know I definitely shouldn't complain.
Have you ever attempted one of Jamie Oliver's 30 minute or 15 minute meals? If you haven't this is basically how it goes:
1) It takes about 3 times longer than it should do
2) You use every utensil and pan and piece of crockery you own
3) Your kitchen is destroyed by the end of it.
The trouble is, every expedition in to the kitchen for The Person ends this way. It's not specific to Jamie Oliver, it's the same for every single meal. Most of the time after eating a lovely meal and getting up to put my plate in the kitchen he stands up, takes the plate from me and goes, "Don't go in there." I know well enough not to - my poor heart won't be able to stand the strain.
Don't believe me? Look at this:
This is what happens after The Person makes two sandwiches.
That's all. Two. Sandwiches.
But I'm really not complaining.