Six days to payday, several late nights due to overtime at work to factor in, and I’m considering the contents of my pantry with a “well I could make a vegetable bake but that would leave no bread for breakfast and I could re-make that swede risotto from the other day but that would mean most of my protein comes only from nuts and cheese for the rest of the week as I’m using that cheap Tesco’s nut-roast as a basis for my Tupperware lunches for the next three days but I’ve opened that pack of feta cheese so I should find a way to use that up before it starts tapping on the inside of the fridge and singing Sam Smith’s “Stay With Me” in tinny-yet-crumbly voice also I have that stew pack of winter root veg that I need to do something with as well……..”
Welcome to First World Problems! And The Inside of My Head. Aren’t you glad you’re just visiting?
Google, and a dusty can of Strongbow cider from the back of the drinks cabinet, To The Rescue. For those not keen on cider, the original recipe just uses chopped apple.
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This afternoon was spent at the GP clinic, as I had one of those wonderful women’s health examinations which make you wonder about the motivations of Mother Nature, what with the creation of a system of internal tubing that in any other situation would make a professional plumber whistle quietly and comment “Who the ‘ell put that stopcock there?! Bloody cowboys! That’ll cost yer £300 plus VAT ‘cos you can’t get the parts these days, KEV! get the largest sink plunger from the van would yer?”.
But I’ve found that in situations like this (or opticians/dentists/chiropodists etc), it’s actually a good idea to inform the healthcare provider upfront that you suffer from anxiety attacks, because generally they’re fairly sympathetic and will work with you in managing the situation so that the procedure can go ahead with minimum grief to either side. Establishing that extra bit of control often is enough to prevent the anxiety spiralling upwards into a full-blown attack. Plus, it also acts as a good screening process for arseholes, in that if the reaction is one of why should I care / you’re being stupid / these exams don’t hurt, you know not to proceed with the procedure as you will quite likely find yourself being completely disempowered, and therefore you can politely make your excuses and leave / ask for another healthcare provider / throw yourself out via the nearest window in a spectacular crash of glass fragments, like they do in the movies.
After all this, something comforting for dinner seemed like a good idea. Fortunately I’d found a tin of chestnut puree on offer for a mere 34p at Big Supermarket Chain, due to the tin being badly dented, and this richest of nutmeats was just the luxurious touch that this evening needed (well that, and a quadruple vodka).
Chestnut & Peanut Nut Roast / Chestnut pesto