Am I the only one whose kids are better cooks than me? I have to be honest here and confess that I can only make six meals and one of them is pizza (take-away, of course).
Personally, I blame my old school curriculum which made us choose between Latin and domestic science. During a taster session with the latter, I broke the sewing machine in an attempt to do a three point turn. After that, it seemed safer to decline the odd Latin verb.
My mother was a great cook but we had a tiny kitchen which she shared with her mother-in-law. Two cooks were more than enough so I didn’t get a look in, although I was once taught to make cheese sauce (which remains one of my six can-do dishes today).
When I got to university, meals were cooked for us in hall apart from Sunday night when we were free to go solo in the little kitchenette at the end of our corridor. That was when we all tried to demonstrate our culinary skills to our friends. I’d like to think that my attempt to rustle up ox tail soup, wasn’t the reason for an outbreak of nausea and worse – but after that, no one else wanted to eat my offerings again.
So when I got married for the first time at the tender age of twenty two, I was determined to make up for it. I spent hours ploughing through the numerous cookery books we received as wedding presents in order to prove myself to my new husband. Unfortunately, my efforts never tasted like the pictures suggested they should.
Undaunted, I decided when my first baby got onto solids, that I would puree my own food for him. He promptly spat it out. So did the second baby. And the third. After that, it was all downhill. “What have you burnt us for dinner tonight, Mum?” was a common phrase in our household.
Until, that was, my children decided to take over themselves. “I’ll do that,” said my then twelve-year-old daughter one day when I was struggling to repair a cracked pavlova for a supper party. The results were so spectacular that I hired her on the spot for future events.
My eldest son turned out to be a whizz at spag bol (unlike my pasta, you could see individual strands in his). And my youngest makes such a great salad dressing that I have to wait for him to come back from band practice before I attempt to slice the tomatoes.
“My kids are the same,” confided a high-flying advertising exec whose sixteen-year-old son has dinner on the table every night for her. “I think it’s because it’s considered a skill nowadays. When we were at school, all that domestic stuff was considered a poor second.”
Still, I found a solution. To go back to class! Now, once a month, I take time off from my writing schedule to attend a two hour cookery course. There’s only one problem. My new husband, who was a bachelor until we married, reckons he’s a better cook than me. So now there are five chefs in the kitchen!
Monday, 12 August 2013
Monday, 5 August 2013
Am I the only one to have done something different recently?
Am I the only one to have done something different recently? It started with an out of the blue request.
“Can we go to the proms?” asked my grown up eldest son the other evening. “We can get in for a fiver if we get tickets on the day.”
The proms! I hadn’t been since I was nineteen. A boyfriend took me and we must have gone on the cheap, because I can clearly remember sitting on the floor with lots of rather sweaty people and feeling rather bored.
It wasn’t a great recommendation. But my two oldest children and I were all in London for the night – a rare occasion. And we wanted to make the most of it.
“Go on, Mum,” urged my twenty-something daughter. “We’ve never been.”
My conscience was pricked! It was surely my parental duty to take my offspring to one of Britain’s traditions. However, there was no way I was sitting on the floor again, even if it did only cost a fiver.
Instead, we managed to get some quite decent stall seats for just over £15 each (we nearly bought them from a tout but panicked in case they weren’t legal). We also brought a picnic to munch by the Albert Memorial where I proceeded to loosely fill my lot in on Victorian history, despite yawns on their part.
Then came our first argument. “It doesn’t start until seven thirty,” declared my children, who’ve always assumed they know more than me.
“I thought it was seven,” I protested.
As usual, I was over-ruled and we continued to picnic until the park began to empty. “Maybe you’re right,” conceded my son.
There then proceeded a mad panic dash to the cloakroom to deposit suitcases, but somehow we made it to our seats just as the conductor took up his baton.
“I told you so,” I hissed but my daughter shot me a Mum-Be-Quiet look.
For the next half an hour, the three of us sat there, in stony post-quarrel silence, listening to music that we wouldn’t normally listen to. I have to be honest and say that not all of it was to my taste. My children clearly felt the same, judging from the eye-ball rolling and furtive texting to friends.
But then something miraculous happened. Two grand pianos were wheeled on stage and a pair of glamorous female pianists proceeded to play them in a way I had never seen before. It was almost like a courtship between the hands and keyboard: as a novice piano player myself, I was utterly fascinated.
Then I began to read the programme. Entranced, I began to put the composers’ stories together with the scores; the sombre tones from the war years, followed by the jubilant celebration of peace, suddenly all made sense.
So too did the conductor. Never before, had I observed one at such close quarters. It was like watching a dancer ruling the waves as he dipped and ducked and cajoled and soothed and encouraged his orchestra.
As for the players themselves, we were all riveted by their synchronistic skills. “Aren’t they amazing?” breathed my son whose favourite band is Kings of Leon.
Nor were we the only ones who were there for the first time. Next to us was a fifteen year old boy and his grandparents. “It’s much cooler than I thought it would be,” he confided during the interval.
“That was great, Mum,” said my oldest two as we made our way back on the train. “Can we come again, next year?”
Then the phone rang. It was from the youngest who, at the age of twenty two, is playing at the Reading Festival with his band “Great Cynics”. (Saturday August 24th at midday, since you ask).
“Sorry I couldn’t make it,” he said. “By the way, what are the proms, anyway?”
“Can we go to the proms?” asked my grown up eldest son the other evening. “We can get in for a fiver if we get tickets on the day.”
The proms! I hadn’t been since I was nineteen. A boyfriend took me and we must have gone on the cheap, because I can clearly remember sitting on the floor with lots of rather sweaty people and feeling rather bored.
It wasn’t a great recommendation. But my two oldest children and I were all in London for the night – a rare occasion. And we wanted to make the most of it.
“Go on, Mum,” urged my twenty-something daughter. “We’ve never been.”
My conscience was pricked! It was surely my parental duty to take my offspring to one of Britain’s traditions. However, there was no way I was sitting on the floor again, even if it did only cost a fiver.
Instead, we managed to get some quite decent stall seats for just over £15 each (we nearly bought them from a tout but panicked in case they weren’t legal). We also brought a picnic to munch by the Albert Memorial where I proceeded to loosely fill my lot in on Victorian history, despite yawns on their part.
Then came our first argument. “It doesn’t start until seven thirty,” declared my children, who’ve always assumed they know more than me.
“I thought it was seven,” I protested.
As usual, I was over-ruled and we continued to picnic until the park began to empty. “Maybe you’re right,” conceded my son.
There then proceeded a mad panic dash to the cloakroom to deposit suitcases, but somehow we made it to our seats just as the conductor took up his baton.
“I told you so,” I hissed but my daughter shot me a Mum-Be-Quiet look.
For the next half an hour, the three of us sat there, in stony post-quarrel silence, listening to music that we wouldn’t normally listen to. I have to be honest and say that not all of it was to my taste. My children clearly felt the same, judging from the eye-ball rolling and furtive texting to friends.
But then something miraculous happened. Two grand pianos were wheeled on stage and a pair of glamorous female pianists proceeded to play them in a way I had never seen before. It was almost like a courtship between the hands and keyboard: as a novice piano player myself, I was utterly fascinated.
Then I began to read the programme. Entranced, I began to put the composers’ stories together with the scores; the sombre tones from the war years, followed by the jubilant celebration of peace, suddenly all made sense.
So too did the conductor. Never before, had I observed one at such close quarters. It was like watching a dancer ruling the waves as he dipped and ducked and cajoled and soothed and encouraged his orchestra.
As for the players themselves, we were all riveted by their synchronistic skills. “Aren’t they amazing?” breathed my son whose favourite band is Kings of Leon.
Nor were we the only ones who were there for the first time. Next to us was a fifteen year old boy and his grandparents. “It’s much cooler than I thought it would be,” he confided during the interval.
“That was great, Mum,” said my oldest two as we made our way back on the train. “Can we come again, next year?”
Then the phone rang. It was from the youngest who, at the age of twenty two, is playing at the Reading Festival with his band “Great Cynics”. (Saturday August 24th at midday, since you ask).
“Sorry I couldn’t make it,” he said. “By the way, what are the proms, anyway?”
Sunday, 4 August 2013
Win a 1-night-for-two Champneys Pamper Break worth over £500!
The Pamper Break is the perfect 1 night escape to help relax and rejuvenate mind and body. Choose two treatments from the menu of four to really help pamper yourself at one of Champneys' award winning spas.
What's included:
Arrival 2.00pm
1 Nights Accommodation
Choose two treatments from the following list:
- 25 minute Champneys Massage
- 25 minute Champneys Facial
- 25 minute Aromatherapy Wrap
- 25 min Scalp Massage
Unlimited use of resort facilities
Up to 20 different classes per day
Nutritious Dinner, Breakfast & Lunch
Depart 4.00pm
To enter the competition please email your answer to the following question:
In my latest novel, "Happy Families", what is Andy's secret?
Send your answer, with your full name, to janeyfraser (at) gmail.com with "Champney's competition in the subject field. Entries must arrive by midnight on Wednesday 31st July 2013. The winner will be announced on the website on Friday 6th September 2013. Please see below for competition terms and conditions.
About Champneys
Discover laid-back luxury at one of Champneys’ spa retreats, scattered across the UK. Choose from the hideaway seclusion of Forest Mere in Hampshire, the Georgian grace of Henlow Grange in Bedfordshire or the innovative Springs in Leicestershire. Each resort offers sumptuous accommodation in elegant surroundings, delicious cuisine, treatments and therapies focusing on both inner health and outer beauty, not to mention the latest fitness trends. Whether you choose an invigorating body scrub, energising exercise class, cleansing mud wrap or a dip in the thalassotherapy pool, there’s no better way to revive body and soul than with a spa break at Champneys.
Competition terms and conditions: Prize valid for 1 year subject to availability. Valid Monday to Thursday only. Not available at Champneys Tring. Guests must be 16 years or over, non refundable. Prize value dependent on location. Treatment must be chosen from a pre-set menu. By entering the competition you consent to your name and email address being shared with Champneys for promotional purposes. Champneys privacy policy, and how they manage your information, can be found at http://www.champneys.com/Custom-Pages/Privacy-Policy
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