Did I mention that while I might be tightfisted with my shopping, my husband isn't? So after two weeks of eeking out the rations into rather gorgeous meals, I eventually went to Waitrose on Saturday to stock up on organic apricots and that lovely tagine paste they do, split peas and all those other things you can't get at the local shop. The cats will even eat tonight.
On Sunday, Jed went missing. "He's taken Jet to Homebase", offered my eldest, referring to the magnificent black lab we're looking after until our rescue dog arrives this week. And you wonder why we're the first call for so many of our mates looking for dogsitters?
Hours later, they returned, stocked up with Tesco bags filled to the brim with apricots, tagine pastes and cat food. And some Markies for Jet. "Well, we needed some spaghetti" he said to my look of betrayal, as if he hoped that somehow the non-sequitur would throw me off the scent of the bags of fresh vegetables he'd bought only two days after the Bill's veg box arrived.
So today, grumpy and with sore thoat and leaden head after a heavy weekend, I'm wading through the packed fridge in search of something sweet to lessen the foreboding of my imminent Jamie O deadline.
Fresh double cream! He bought me cream! (He hates cream.)
Grabbing a banana from the Bill's bit of the fridge (shipped from the Caribbean, it's less of a footprint than half the contents on the Tesco shelf in our fridge), I fork the cream and sugar into the mashed banana, squish it on the roof of my mouth and dream of the seventies when shopping was local and daily and when mothers made mashed bananas for their sore thoated daughters.
And tonight, I shall bash those stale digestives at the back of the larder(ok, they're not stale, but there's a theme here..)and mash more bananas from the Caribbean with Cornish double cream and the kids will marvel at the mother who can make something out of nothing. I just won't mention the bit about Tesco...
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