Chickpeas….mothers little helper

O.K. Let’s set the record straight. Just incase you were harbouring any fantasies that my life is just peachy – all pancakes and petticoats…..here’s the reality of my day.

After the usual round of dog walks, poo scooping, and washing up, and after a morning of work, I thought it would be a simply splendid idea to make spicy chilli-roasted chickpeas as a little snack to nibble on. And why ever not. I can hear my children’s enthusiasm right now – Yum! Thanks mum – you sure do know how to tempt us. Not.

But undaunted, I had soaked the little critters, and put a pan on to boil, before going up to my art shed for some afternoon work. I set the timer knowing I would forget them. Ha! No flies on me. Then I forgot the timer, and sailed merrily on into my afternoon. Two and a half hours later, as the burning embers of my house made their weary way up the garden to my consciousness I had a vague remembering…..

Such was my distress (I am Virgo after all) I headed down to my favourite junk shop, and bought a lamp that had been winking at me for a couple of weeks…retail therapy is the only way to go when your house is something out of the blitz
. Trust me. But then a crucial bit came off, so I had to stick it; then I stuck my fingers together with superglue; then a big dob of glue burned a hole in my woollen dress. Then one teenager came through the door yelling: OH MY GOD, HAVE YOU BEEN SMOKING??? MUM, HOW COULD YOU??? (teenagers always yell in capitals)

All this while I was perched on a stool, trying to stick the lamp, in a burnt out chickpea house, with the dog fighting the cat, my dear husband trying to do some after school tutoring, the plumber visiting to mend a leak, and the wrath of outraged teenagers to deal with.

Not good. Not peachy. And not a petticoat in sight.

Tomorrow should be better. Sigh.