Yesterday evening's work, that wasn't work, was a focus group ascertaining my reactions to a government initiative to make us all doubly glaze our windows, stuff our duvets into our walls and waffle weave our lofts. It wasn't quite as boring as it could have been. I thought it was all fair enough really. If you're going to shove a bloody great big extension onto your house put the rest of it in order first. However, my fellow comrades were very "Englishman's home is his castle" and were of the opinion that should they wish to live in an uninsulated freezing cold house with holes in it, that was their right. Yes, but there again .... I tuned out at this point, wondering if Mr Smith and the Apprentice were enjoying the cottage pie I had lovingly prepared for their dinner.
"Too much mashed potato and it's a bit dry." It doesn't look dry to me. Why do I bother? Mr Smith says I set myself such high standards of culinary perfection but, though delicious, it just wasn't as good as some of my previous pies. I threw it at him. Really he and the boys should have learnt by now that if you do not wish to wear your dinner you should not upset the cook.
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