So I came closer to reducing the new house to a pile of ashes and rubble today than I'd really like to think about. No permanent damage done, apart from my saucepan, but it was certainly an unforgettable lunch.
We have been in the house for one month as of today. We are still slowly unpacking, have been using the hot tub and still haven't totally figured out recycling. We've been having a lovely long holiday as C has two weeks off work. We have baked, made ornaments, gone to soft play, and enjoyed long country walks out the back of the house (one of the contributors to our near-disaster today).
We have done a bit of entertaining, and today had our lovely friends Monisha and Deba down from London. We went for what was supposed to be a quick walk, forgetting the maths of toddler legs. I left a pot gently (I thought) simmering on the stove. The walk extended, the pot boiled dry, and, while the stove top survived unscathed, the slow-roast shoulder of lamb did not get its sticky pomegranate glaze.
I fear I must accept that I am not a domestic goddess. Nigella would never fill her house with smoke from a carbonised pot of "meaty pomegranate juice." Martha would have got the evidence out without alerting the guests - I had rushed home to check on lunch while they lingered in the garden but they caught me opening all the doors and windows to let the smoke escape. C rushed to the rescue but I had to let him down that the danger was past, the saucepan was no longer heating and that we just needed to get a wind tunnel going.
Lunch was uneventful after - clearly there is no way to top billowing plumes of smoke issuing from our facade. How on earth will I keep our next guests entertained?
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