You know, my son and his young wife have this little rented flat just around the corner from me. Ages ago, I asked my boy for a spare key to their placejust in case, you know? Always handy, could come in useful one day. Right now, Im on holiday and theyre both tied up at work.
So, I pop over while theyre out, make myself useful. I cook up hearty classics hes loved since childhoodroast beef and Yorkshire pudding, cottage pie, dumplings… just proper English grub, the sort thats filling and comforting. Once the foods done, I roll up my sleeves and get cleaning. His wife, Emily, isnt really one for keeping things tidy, bless her.
Their bits and bobs are all scattered about, the washing ups piling up in the sink. I keep telling myself Ill show Emily how to keep a house ship-shape. Anyway, when they finally walk in, the place is spotless, dinner is ready, my son tucks in with that big grin on his face. I hope theyll just be happy and get on with life.
But honestly, Emily always seems a bit put out. She barely touches my food and always says its way too heavy and not healthy. She prefers her own porridge and fancy salads with all sorts of herbs. And shes quick to hint I should head home soon as possible…
