Here's the sting

 I really want to make the most of the lovely Summer (and get about five blog posts out of it) with some douchey foraging in the forest. Not for men. For wild garlic and nettles and probably some dirt or poisonous mushrooms to liven up my lack of cooking.

Quick, Granny is out, let's be really naughty and make a wild garlic and nettle risotto! Oh no she's back. Potatoes and tongue it is.

Well, luckily for me one of the (should I say few? I never know how faux mean to be) good things about having a boyfriend is that I can use his house. Can I? Have we had this conversation? No? Ok, fine I'll make my illicit meals over a candle or something.

Ok, so my other Grampa's house.

Hmm, but he doesn't like my nettle soup. What shall I do? Where am I meant to cook the fruits of my foraging?

Mum's house either was no good as Sam got one spindly food caught in some dandelion fluff and it was very upsetting for everyone.

Oh poor thing. Poor me really. Nowhere to cook. I might as well be on the streets or at a soup kitchen. I suppose that counts as looking for food...

Nighella' of an argument

Oh dear, I feel Charles' pain. One minute you're having a lovely lunch of deep fried crab burger with avocado and ten types of salad, the next you just start arguing. 

Chaz and I got a bit deep fried ourselves arguing over just WHO has the best hair length. She won't have any when i've pulled it all out.. 

Bob just sat there mildly admiring her own reflection. She had a ponytail. The best of both. I suppose the hair equivalent of sharing our side dishes. Which were: fries, special slaw, and orange and peruvian apple salad. Mmm. Now if only something was razored off the bill!