Honestly, I still dont understand why I ended up marrying him. So, weve only just tied the knot.

Charlie: A Journey Through Life and Adventure

Hey love, its Charlie here, your big, floppyeared Labrador. Im the kind of lad that makes everyone smile

Where theres kin, theres a kerfuffle, as the old saying goes. Mabel, born in a tiny hamlet in the Cotswolds

You Just Don’t Know How Lucky You Are — Half a million? — Karina read the notification on her phone three times before the numbers made sense. — You took out a loan for half a million pounds? Dimitri sat on the sofa, glued to his smartphone, not even glancing up. — Oh, that… Yes, just a small thing, for Mum’s house renovations. You know, her pipes are leaking, the flooring’s ruined, the wallpaper’s going mildewy… — Hold on. — Karina sank into the nearest armchair, her legs too weak to stand. — You took out a loan. For half a million. And gave it all to your mother? Without saying a word to me? Dimitri finally looked up, baffled, as if his wife was asking about something perfectly normal. — Karina, it’s my mum. She lives alone, her pension’s tiny. Who else would help her? — What about discussing it with me? — Karina was shouting now, unable to stop. — Asking my opinion? At least warning me? — You’d have started arguing, — Dimitri shrugged. — And Mum needed the money urgently. Four years. Four years she’d put up with that woman who called every evening to check what Dima had eaten for dinner. Who turned up without warning and commented on the state of the flat. Who always sat Karina at the far end of the table during family meals. — Don’t make a mountain out of a molehill, — Dimitri said in his usual calm tone. — We’ll manage. We can pay it off quickly, it’s no big deal. It’s family. Hot, angry tears burst forth. Karina wiped them away, smearing mascara across her cheeks. — Family? Am I “family”? Or just an accessory? Remember when your mum decided it was time we switched cars and you sold ours without asking? When she threw my things out of the spare room because she “couldn’t sleep surrounded by someone else’s junk”? When on my birthday, you and she went fridge shopping for her? — All details, — Dimitri waved off. — You’re just tired, you need a break. Karina looked at the man she married—tall, soft-featured, those dimples she once found charming. Now, all she saw was a thirty-something child, unable to cut the apron strings. — We’ll get through it, — he repeated like a mantra. — Love conquers all. Karina stood up and walked to the bedroom. Two large duffle bags sat on the top shelf—the ones she’d brought when she first moved in. She hauled them down, opened the wardrobe and started packing. Twenty minutes later, Dimitri appeared, just as the first bag was stuffed full. — What are you doing? Karina, don’t be ridiculous. You’re not serious, are you? She didn’t answer. Folded jumpers, jeans, underwear. Reached for her jewellery box—gifts from parents and friends, nothing from him. — Where will you go? Back to your mum? She’s in Manchester! She zipped the second bag. Checked her handbag—passport, card, keys to her mum’s flat, kept just in case. — Karina, say something! You can’t just leave. I love you! She gave him a long look. Then picked up her bags and walked out. …Next morning, Karina stood at the register office holding the divorce application, feeling a strange calm inside, despite the grey drizzle outside. The decision was made. The first call came at 2.30am. Karina, startled on Lena’s sofa, confused about where she was. — We need to talk, — Dimitri was ragged, incoherent. — I understand now, I’ll change. Give me another chance. She hung up. Twenty minutes later, the phone rang again. — Karina, I can’t live without you. You are my reason to go on. By morning, forty-three messages had arrived—tearful confessions, promises, threats. “If you don’t come back, I don’t know what I’ll do.” “Mum says you’re just being difficult.” “I’ll wait for you forever.” A week later, he began showing up at her work. Karina went for lunch and found him by the sandwich shop. Headed for the Tube, spotted him across the street. — Just passing by, — he’d smile when she demanded an explanation. — Wanted to see you. One evening, the doorbell rang at Lena’s flat. Expecting the pizza delivery, Karina opened the door. Dimitri stood there—bouquet of red roses. — Just one chance, — he whispered. — That’s all I’m asking. Karina shut the door. He stood outside for two hours before neighbours threatened to call the police. Eventually, she learned to live with it—as one does with chronic pain. Ignoring messages, screening calls from unknown numbers, not looking over her shoulder. She switched jobs for remote work, moved to a sleepy suburb where Dimitri was unlikely to show up. The divorce was finalised three months later. Karina walked out of court, paper in hand, tears streaming—not of grief, but relief. At first, freedom was terrifyingly empty. She’d always checked her choices with someone, even if that someone always decided anyway. Now, she could buy any yoghurt in the shop, without worrying if Elena Victoria approved. Watch any film she liked, without being told “proper women don’t watch that”. She could breathe. She signed up for English lessons—a long-held dream, which Dimitri dismissed as “a waste of money”. Started attending sunrise yoga. Took a solo weekend trip to Cornwall, wandering the streets and eating clotted cream fudge. After six months, the calls and messages stopped. Karina waited another month, then realised she could finally relax. Landed a job at a marketing agency—bright office, young team, exciting projects. Life was looking up. …She met Andrew at a work do her colleague, Mary, convinced her to attend. — This is our lead programmer, — Mary introduced her to a tall man in wire-rimmed glasses. — Andrew, meet Karina from marketing. He shook her hand—firm but gentle. Smiled, simple and sincere. — You ducked out of karaoke too? — he nodded at the stage, where finance was butchering “Wonderwall”. — Got to preserve my nerves, — Karina grinned. They talked all evening—books, travel, life’s quirks. Andrew listened more than he spoke. He asked questions and waited for the answers—never lectured or explained how she should live. When he discovered she was divorced, he simply nodded and changed the subject. …Six months later, they moved in together, picking a cosy, light-filled flat in a quiet London square. — Are you sure you like this one? — Karina checked, viewing the place. — Do you? — Andrew replied. — I love it. — Then it’s settled. Those small things—the right to her own opinion, respected—mattered far more than grand declarations of love. He proposed on the building’s rooftop at sunset, the sky awash in gold and pink. Produced a tiny box—inside, a diamond ring. — I’m rubbish at speeches, — Andrew admitted. — But I want to wake up next to you every day. If you’re willing to put up with my snoring and my love of bad coffee. Karina laughed through tears and nodded… …One May evening, as usual, Andrew stayed late at work—deadline panic, a final bug in the code. Karina was making pasta, humming with the radio, when the doorbell rang. Sharp, insistent, demanding. She looked through the peephole—and recoiled. Dimitri stood on the landing. Pale, hollow-eyed, rumpled shirt. Two years. Two years of silence—and now, he was here. — Karina, open up! — his fist pounding the door. — I know you’re in there! We need to talk! Karina grabbed her phone and dialled Andrew. Engaged. — We still love each other! — Dimitri shouted from outside. — You can’t be with someone else! It’s wrong! The door shook—he threw his whole weight against it, trying to break in. Karina pressed her back to the door, bracing hard. — Go away! — she screamed. — I’ll call the police! — You’re my wife! — his voice cracked. — You were mine, you’ll stay mine! Two years I waited for you to come to your senses! Two years! — We’re divorced! It’s over! — It’s not over! — he shoved the door again. — I’ve changed! Mum says you don’t appreciate your own happiness! Open up, let’s talk! Through the peephole, his face twisted—obsessed, unrecognisable. Karina dialled three digits. — Dima! One call; the police will be here. Leave. Now. Dimitri froze. Silent. Then turned and stormed off down the stairs. The main door slammed below. Karina slid to the floor, her heart pounding. Thirty minutes passed before she could ring Andrew. She filed a police report the next day. The local officer—a kindly, mustached man—took down details, listened, nodded. — We’ll handle it. He’ll get a warning. What he said to Dimitri, Karina never knew. But her ex-husband never showed up again. No calls. No texts. No “chance” encounters. The wedding took place in early June, at a small country pub—twenty friends, just those closest to them. No fuss, no groom’s side relatives laying down “traditions”. Karina stood opposite Andrew in a simple white dress, holding his warm hands. Outside, the birch trees rustled, carrying scents of flowers and fresh-cut grass. — Do you…? — the registrar began. — I do, — Karina interrupted, and everyone laughed. Andrew slipped the ring on—a thin gold band, engraved inside. Three words: “Forever with you”. Karina lifted her gaze to this man who would be her husband. Not a mummy’s boy, not a possessive stalker. Just a man who listened, respected, and loved. Ahead lay a life where her voice finally mattered…

“Half a million?” Catherine stared at the notification on her phone, blinking three times

You’re Just Jealous “Mum, are you serious? The Savoy? That’s at least five hundred pounds for dinner! Per person.” Igor threw his keys onto the sideboard so they rattled against the wall. Olga turned from the hob, where she was stirring the sauce, and instantly noticed her husband’s whitened knuckles gripping his phone. He listened to his mother for a few more minutes, then swore and abruptly hung up. “What happened?” Instead of answering, Igor slumped into a kitchen chair and stared at his plate of potatoes. Olga switched off the burner, wiped her hands on a tea towel, and sat opposite. “Igor…” “She’s gone absolutely mad. Lost it, completely.” He looked up; Olga saw such a mixture of anger and helplessness in his eyes that her heart clenched. “Remember I told you about that… Victor? From the dance class?” Olga nodded. His mum had mentioned her new companion about a month ago—shyly, fidgeting with the corner of the tablecloth. It had seemed quite sweet: a 58-year-old widow, five years alone, and now—a ballroom dancing club at the community centre, a charming gent who could twirl her in a waltz. “Well.” Igor pushed his plate aside. “She’s taken him to the Savoy. Three times in two weeks. Bought him a suit for four grand. Last weekend they took a trip to Bath—guess who paid for the hotel and tours?” “Mrs Taylor.” “Bingo.” He rubbed his hand down his face. “Mum saved that money for years. For a new boiler. For a rainy day. Now she’s blowing it all on a man she’s known for six weeks. Unreal…” Olga fell silent, choosing her words. She knew her mother-in-law well—romantic, open, almost guilelessly trusting. The sort of woman who believes in true love even after half a century on earth. “Listen, Igor…” She covered his hand with hers. “Your mum’s an adult. Her money, her choices. Don’t interfere. She won’t hear anyone right now.” “She’s making mistake after mistake!” “Yes. And she has a right to. And frankly, you’re exaggerating.” Igor shrugged, but didn’t pull away. “I just can’t watch her—” “I know, love. But you can’t live her life for her.” Olga stroked his wrist. “She has to take responsibility—even if we don’t like it. She’s perfectly capable.” Igor nodded morosely. …Two months passed in a flash. Talk of Victor faded—his mum phoned less and seemed evasive, as if she were hiding something. Olga decided the romance had fizzled and stopped worrying. So when the doorbell rang on Sunday evening and Mrs Taylor was on the doorstep, Olga didn’t know what to think. “Darlings! My dear darlings!” She swept into the flat, trailing clouds of sweet perfume. “He proposed! Look! Look!” A ring with a tiny stone sparkled on her finger. Cheap, but Mrs Taylor looked at it as if it was a great diamond. “We’re getting married! Next month! He’s so, so…” She pressed her hands to her cheeks and laughed—a bright, girlish sound. “I never thought, at my age… That I’d ever feel this again…” Igor hugged his mum, and Olga saw his shoulders relax. Maybe things weren’t so bad. Maybe Victor really did love her, and they’d only been worrying for nothing. “We’re happy for you, mum.” Igor let go and smiled. “You deserve to be happy.” “And I’ve already signed the flat over to him! Now we’re a proper family!” Mrs Taylor announced, and time seemed to freeze. Olga stopped breathing. Igor jerked, as if he’d walked into a glass wall. “What… what did you say?” “The flat.” She waved her hand, oblivious to their faces. “So he knows I trust him. It’s love, darlings, real love! And love is built on trust.” A silence thick enough to hear the clock ticking in the sitting room. “Mrs Taylor.” Olga spoke first, slowly, carefully. “You’ve signed your flat over to a man you’ve known three months? Before the wedding?” “And?” Mrs Taylor tilted her chin. “I trust him. He’s a good, decent man. Not what you imagine. You think badly of him, I know you do.” “We don’t think anything,” Olga stepped forward. “But maybe you could’ve waited until after the ceremony. Why rush?” “You don’t understand. This… This is proof of my love.” Mrs Taylor folded her arms. “What do you know about real feelings? About trust?” Igor finally unclenched his jaw: “Mum—” “No!” She stamped her foot, suddenly more stubborn teenager than grown woman. “I don’t want to hear it! You’re just jealous of my happiness! You want to ruin it for me!” She spun and rushed out, banging the door so hard the glass rattled in the cabinet. The wedding was small—a registry office in Enfield, charity shop dress, and a three-rose bouquet. But Mrs Taylor glowed as if she was marrying in Westminster Abbey. Victor—a portly man with a receding hairline and oily smile—played the perfect gentleman. Kissing her hand, pulling out her chair, topping up her prosecco. The ideal groom. Olga watched him over her glass. Something wasn’t right. His eyes—when he looked at Mrs Taylor, the pupils stayed cold, calculating. Practised affection. Rehearsed care. She kept her thoughts to herself. What was the point of talking when no one listened? The first months, Mrs Taylor called every week—bubbling with excitement, listing restaurants and theatres he took her to. “He’s so thoughtful! Yesterday he brought me roses—just because!” Igor nodded along, then hung up and sat in silence, staring into space. Olga said nothing. She waited. A year passed in a blur. Then—the doorbell… Olga opened the door to a woman she barely recognised. Mrs Taylor looked ten years older—deeper wrinkles, hollow eyes, hunched shoulders. One hand gripped her battered suitcase, the very one that once went to Bath. “He threw me out.” Mrs Taylor sobbed. “Filed for divorce and threw me out. The flat… it’s his now. Legally.” In silence, Olga let her in. The kettle boiled quickly. Mrs Taylor sat clutching her cup with both hands, crying quietly, hopelessly. “I loved him so. I did everything for him. And he just…” Olga didn’t interrupt. Just rubbed her back as the tears ran dry. Igor returned an hour later, paused in the doorway, and his face went hard. “Son.” Mrs Taylor rose, held her hands out. “Son, I’ve nowhere to go… You wouldn’t turn your mum out, would you? Give me a room—I won’t take up much. Children are meant to care for their parents, that’s—” “Stop.” Igor raised his hand. “Stop, mum.” “I have no money. None. I spent it all on him, every penny. The pension’s small, you know—” “I warned you.” “What?” “I warned you.” Igor sank onto the sofa, heavy as if the world’s weight was on him. “Said don’t rush. Said get to know him. Said don’t sign over the flat. Do you remember what you told me?” Mrs Taylor’s eyes dropped. “That I didn’t know true love. That we were just jealous. I remember everything, mum.” “Igor…” Olga tried to stop him, but he shook his head. “No. Let her hear it.” He turned to his mum. “You’re a grown woman. You made your choice. You ignored everyone who tried to stop you. And now, you want us to deal with the fallout?” “But I’m your mother!” “That’s exactly why I’m angry!” Igor shot to his feet, voice cracking. “I’m tired, mum! Tired of watching you throw your life away, then run to me for rescue!” Mrs Taylor shrank, small and pitiful. “He lied to me, son. I really loved him, I trusted—” “Trusted him so much you handed the flat to a stranger. Brilliant, mum. Just brilliant. And what about the fact that Dad bought this flat!” “Forgive me.” The tears flowed again. “Forgive me. I was blind, I know. But please… let me have one more chance. I’ll never—” “Adults bear the consequences of their choices.” Igor’s voice was quiet, tired. “You wanted independence? You’ve got it. Sort your own accommodation. Find a job. You’re on your own.” Mrs Taylor left, sobbing loudly on the landing. Olga spent the whole night beside Igor—silent, just holding his hand. Igor didn’t cry. Just lay staring at the ceiling, sighing from time to time. “Did I do the right thing?” he murmured at dawn. “Yes.” Olga stroked his cheek. “It was hard. It hurt. But yes.” In the morning, Igor called his mum and rented her a room in a house-share at the edge of town. Paid six months up front. It was the last help he agreed to. “From now on, you’re on your own, mum. On your own. If you go to court, we’ll help with legal fees. But living here—no.” Olga listened and wondered about justice. About how, sometimes, the harshest lesson is the only one that works. Mrs Taylor got exactly what her blindness brought. And somehow that was both bitter and comforting. And she knew, deep down, this wasn’t the end, and somehow, things would work out. She didn’t know how—but they would…

You’re just jealous Mum, are you serious right now? Thats the Savoy! Thatll be at least two hundred

If Only Everyone Got This Kind of ‘Help’: The Real Cost of a Mother-in-Law’s Good Intentions, a Husband’s Indifference, and a Mother’s Breaking Point

If only everyone received such help Polly, Ill pop round today to help with the grandkids. Polly wedged

Just a Childhood Friend – Are you honestly spending your whole Saturday sorting out junk in the garage? All day? – Ellie poked at a piece of cheesecake with her fork, one eyebrow raised as she eyed the tall, gingerish bloke across from her. Ivan leaned back in his chair, hands wrapped around a mug of cooling cappuccino. – Ellie… It’s not junk, it’s treasure from my childhood. Somewhere in there is my prized collection of ‘Love Hearts’ sweet wrappers, I’ll have you know. Do you realise how valuable that is? – Good grief. You actually saved sweet wrappers? Since when? Ellie snorted, her shoulders shaking with barely suppressed laughter. This cafe, with its worn-down, plum-coloured sofas and eternally foggy windows, had long since become their personal hideout. The waitress, Marina, didn’t bother taking their order – she simply brought Ivan his cappuccino, Ellie her latte, and whichever dessert was on offer for them to share. After fifteen years of friendship, their ritual was as automatic as breathing. – Alright, I’ll admit it, – Ivan saluted her with his mug, – the garage can wait. So can my ‘treasure’. Kieran’s planning a proper barbecue this Sunday, by the way. – Yeah, I know. He spent three hours yesterday picking a new grill online. Three. Hours. I thought my eyes might actually fall out from boredom. Their laughter faded into the hum of the coffee machine and the low murmur of other tables… …There were never awkward silences or unspoken truths between them – they knew each other as well as their own hands. Ellie remembered Ivan as the gangly year-seven with perpetually undone laces, first to talk to her when she was new. Ivan remembered Ellie, the only one who didn’t mock his oversized glasses. Kieran had always accepted their friendship without suspicion or question from the day they met. He watched his wife and her childhood friend with the ease of someone sure of himself and the people he loved. On Friday game nights with Monopoly and Uno, Kieran would laugh the loudest whenever Ivan lost yet again in Scrabble to his wife, topping up the tea as the two debated the rules of charades. – He only wins because he cheats, – Ellie once declared, tossing playing cards at her husband. – That’s called strategy, darling wife, – Kieran replied serenely, gathering up the scattered cards. Ivan watched them with a warm, fond smile. He liked this man – solid, trustworthy, with a dry wit you only caught if you paid attention. Ellie was softer and happier around Kieran, and Ivan was genuinely glad for her, the way only a true friend can be. Their balance only wobbled when Vera came into their tightly-knit little world… …Kieran’s sister had appeared on their doorstep a month before, eyes red, all-in on starting afresh. Her divorce had drained every last drop of her spirit, leaving only bitterness and a gaping hole where stability used to live. The first night Ivan dropped by for the usual board games, Vera looked up from her phone and sized him up as though some hidden switch flicked in her head. Here stood a man – calm, kind-eyed, with a smile that made you want to smile back. – This is Ivan, my school friend, – Ellie introduced. – And this is Vera, Kieran’s sister. – Nice to meet you, – Ivan said, holding out his hand. Vera held onto it just a shade longer than a handshake required. – Likewise. From then on, Vera’s “accidental” appearances became routine. She’d show up at the cafe just when Ivan and Ellie were there. She’d pop into the living room with a plate of biscuits whenever Ivan visited. She’d slide in next to him at game night, so close their shoulders touched. – Can you pass me that card? – Vera leaned right across him, hair tickling Ivan’s neck ‘by accident’. – Oh, sorry. Ivan carefully moved away, mumbling polite nothings. Ellie would catch Kieran’s eye, but he’d only shrug – his sister always was a bit much. Vera’s flirting grew bolder. She held Ivan’s gaze, paid compliments, found reasons to touch him, and laughed at his jokes so loudly Ellie’s ears rang. – You’ve got lovely hands, so slender, like a pianist’s, – Vera said one night, catching his hand over the poker chips. – Do you play? – Er… programmer, actually. – Still lovely. Ivan quickly reclaimed his hand, staring at his cards with exaggerated attention. Even his ears turned pink. After the third invitation to coffee “just to chat as friends”, Ivan caved. He liked Vera – she was full of life and drama; maybe something could work. With luck, she’d stop looking at him that way and life would return to normal. The first weeks of their romance were fine enough. Vera beamed, Ivan relaxed, family nights returned to just “family nights.” But soon, Vera noticed something she wished she hadn’t. She saw Ivan come alive when Ellie walked into the room, saw his face grow more open, the way their jokes bounced and sentences finished in tandem, an invisible connection she couldn’t touch. Jealousy bloomed in Vera’s chest. – Why are you always with her? – Vera demanded, arms folded, blocking Ivan at the front door. – She’s my friend. Fifteen years, Vera. You have to— – But I’m your girlfriend! Me! Not her! The rows came thick and fast. Vera wept, accused, demanded. Ivan explained, pacified, made excuses. – You think about her more than about me! – Vera, this is ridiculous. We’re just friends. – Friends don’t look at each other like that! Ivan’s phone pinged incessantly every time he saw Ellie. – Where are you? When will you be back? Why aren’t you answering? Are you with her again? Eventually, he switched off the sound, but Vera began to track his movements. She’d appear at the cafe, in the park, outside Ellie’s flat – wild-eyed and furious. – Vera, please, – Ivan massaged his temples. – This isn’t healthy. – What’s not healthy is you spending more time with another man’s wife than with your own girlfriend! Ellie was exhausted too. Every meeting with her childhood friend was now nerve-wracking: would Vera show up? Would she kick off? What would she accuse them of next? – Maybe I should see you less… – Ellie started, but Ivan cut her off: – Absolutely not. You’re not changing your life for her tantrums. None of us are. But Vera had made up her mind. If honesty wouldn’t get her what she wanted, maybe something else would. Kieran was sitting in the kitchen when Vera swept in. – Big brother… I have to tell you something. I didn’t want to, but… you deserve the truth… …She dispensed her lies in careful doses, sniffing in the right moments. Secret meetings. Lingering looks. Ivan holding Ellie’s hand, thinking no one saw. Kieran listened silently, face unreadable, not interrupting or interrogating. When Ellie and Ivan came home an hour later, the living room air was thick and unmoving. Kieran reclined in the armchair, wearing a look that said he was expecting entertainment. – Take a seat, – he gestured at the sofa. – My sister’s just told me a rather fascinating story about your secret affair. Ellie froze. Ivan clenched his jaw. – What the— – She claims she witnessed some rather compromising behaviour. Vera huddled, eyes fixed on the rug. Ivan turned to her so suddenly Vera flinched. – That’s enough, Vera. I’ve put up with your drama for too long. His patience gone, the easy-going Ivan vanished, replaced by a man pushed beyond his limits. – We’re done. Finished. Right now. – You can’t— Tears filled her eyes, properly this time. – It’s her! – Vera jabbed at Ellie. – You always pick her! Always! Ellie waited a beat, letting Vera vent her poison. – You know, Vera, – she said calmly, – if you hadn’t tried to control every second of his life, if you hadn’t made a scene out of nothing, none of this would’ve happened. You destroyed what you were trying to save. Vera grabbed her bag and stormed out, slamming the door. And Kieran laughed – wholeheartedly, head thrown back in relief. – Thank God, finally. He stood, drawing his wife into a hug. – You didn’t believe her, did you? – Ellie mumbled into his shoulder. – Not for a second. I’ve watched you two for years. It’s like watching a brother and sister argue over the last biscuit. Ivan sagged, tension finally easing. – Sorry you had to get dragged into this circus. – Don’t be. Vera’s a grown woman—her choices are hers. Now, let’s eat. The lasagne’s getting cold and I don’t reheat it for anyone’s drama. Ellie laughed softly, with relief. Her family remained whole. Her friendship with Ivan survived. And once again, her husband showed why his trust was stronger than any rumour. They headed to the kitchen, where golden lasagne gleamed under the evening lights, and everything in their world felt right again.

Saturday, 4th February Im still smiling at how the day turned out but let me start from the beginning.

New Year’s Quiet: An Unexpected Snow, a Suitcase of Memories, and Anna’s First Step Toward Hope

The Silence of New Years Eve November had draped itself over London with cold rain and dreary skies

My Husband Invited His Ex-Wife for the Sake of the Children—So I Went to Celebrate Alone at a Hotel

Where are you putting that vase? Emily asked, pressing her lips together to keep her temper in check.

Yesterday: When a Difficult Guest Arrives—A Culinary Showdown Over Black Bread, Homemade Mayonnaise, and Family Boundaries in a London Flat

Yesterday “Where on earth are you putting that salad bowl? Its blocking the cold meats!