I rediscovered an old scent on Saturday night as I attempted to burn down my kitchen. I’d actually started out boiling some rice, but I’d gotten so carried away by some fiction I was reading that I didn’t hear the timer go off. I knew I was cooking, but reasoned to myself that ‘the timer hasn’t gone off, so all is well’. By the time I got downstairs and opened the kitchen door, I was greeted with the acrid smell of charred rice/pot. I opened the kitchen window even wider, and then carried out the offending pot and its contents into the garden. I then got a bowl of water, poured it into the pot, covered it with its lid, and left it outside on the grass.
My girls had been and were still playing in the living room. I asked Egirl ‘didn’t you smell the food burning?’ ‘I did wonder what that smell was’ was her response.
T came downstairs, and opened every door and window. There’s a running battle between T & I. He loves fresh air, and doesn’t seem to feel the cold. I can’t bear being cold. I prefer to be snug and warm. So each morning when I wake up, I go round the house shutting all the windows, leaving just a couple open. The same thing is repeated when T gets back from work, as he surreptitiously opens whatever he can, hoping I won’t notice.
Anyway, back to my gist. On this fateful day, he opened every aperture openable, save the front door. I guess he didn’t want to display the contents of our house to passers-by. And for once, I couldn’t complain. It is still quite cold here, can’t remember what it was on that night, but it wasn’t more than 5 degrees celsius, so I made sure the girls and I were very warmly dressed short of wearing our coats, and I sucked it up. Shebi na me burn rice? Anyhow, by the time I cooked a fresh batch of rice and served the girls, I was able to shut the double doors and the dining room windows. They ate, and we retreated upstairs. And still the house stank.
The next morning, I noticed the pot had been scrubbed clean. So had the hob. T rocks! The burnt smell hovered around till I fried some plantain on Monday afternoon, and then I no longer noticed it.
Yesterday, I went up to London to be poked, prodded and bled. At least this time the nurse didn’t say ‘sharp scratch’. She said it would hurt, and it did, but it’s a small price to pay in my quest to become more bionic. Titanium and ceramic is cool, right? I was there all morning, and for most of the afternoon. Before I left, there was a seminar type thing where I got to handle a hip prosthesis for the first time. It was an old style one, very heavy, but served its purpose which was to inform and enlighten the ‘class’. I also got a refresher course on using crutches; someone said I made it look easy. Yay me.
On impulse, I decided to go and see a friend at Kilburn when I was through. The girls were with their grandparents and I felt footloose and fancy free. It was a good visit. At about 5pm, I had pounded yam and efo riro (spinach stew). It was my first meal of the day except for a couple of M&S cookies I’d eaten on the way to keep from passing out on the Tube. That efo? The first forkful nearly took the roof of my mouth off it was so peppery! But me and food? I don’t joke o, especially if it is tasty. So I manned up and finished every morsel, and then asked for a takeaway pack too.
I’ve been working on something that I find very exciting personally, and I hope you’ll agree when you get to read it.
Thanks for stopping by.