Listen to the pouring rain 30.06
Listen to the pouting rain, listen to it pour.
My last purchase before leaving was undoubtably my best. Having fretted for some time about surviving without a waterproof coat I succumbed to one hundred and twenty pounds worth of goretex and love watching the drops just roll off it. Otherwise, my clothes choices are not the best.
I’m too hot. Jeans and t shirts for twelve degrees sounded perfectly reasonable but it’s not. I’m spending my days mostly indoors so far with the heating on, with windows that don’t open easily and wearing a large apron.
Solid, water resistant, shoes sounded a good plan but no, I really need bare feet and crocs. Fashioning lace ups to easily slip on and off every time I move between the kitchen and the rest of the building means my toes are blistering slopping around inside them. Stopping to tie and untie about twenty times in a morning became a faff. Because of the high levels of rain, shoes are expected to come off the minute one enters a building. Yes, that’s guests too.
I’ve no passion for writing today, having to lock down these posts has momentarily taken the edge off things for me. I will just say two things tho…. she came in halfway through my cooking prep and placed a filthy electric slicing machine on the draining board next to lots of wet but clean utensils, plugging it in literally behind the taps. (Remember. This area is not for food prep, only washing up, she said) I nearly had a chefs paddy but walked away, returning a few moments later to remove the wire from the standing water and poke it behind the sink unit. I didn’t wash up until slicer and bread were gone albeit leaving crumbs all over clean items.
Later I said a big no about using the oven. We had discussion about which dishes to use, the decision was made to use the ones I said were unsafe. The oven stands from knee to shoulder height and has baking tins that slide in as multiple shelves. Cooking dishes are placed inside the baking trays making them easy to remove. This particular dish she wanted me to use was marginally bigger than the baking tray so the tray needed ramming in. I said I wouldn’t do it, she would have to. So she did. When it came to removing it, complete with heavy pasta chicken meal for twelve, cooked in an earthenware dish, I again refused and she asked one of the guests to help me! He pulled and tugged at the jammed in shelf then gingerly reached one sleeved arm right into the back of the oven to push as well as pull it out. It was good to say no.
Just now a stranger appeared, this not unusual, he is the third person today to just walk in and start going through drawers or cupboards without acknowledging me. i could hear him using the kitchen so called and introduced myself, it turns out he is one of her brothers. I’ve sat myself back round the corner but think I’ll have a meltdown if he leaves it filthy. I understand one of her brothers is cooking steaks for the, after match, celebration this evening. It’s a quiet afternoon then an evening of jubilant football officials, you just might see them if you watch the game between the Faroese and Belarus.
The kitchen bins are empty, the floor swept (tho still squalid), the box with unknown dirty cutlery and what could once have been half an oven tray of dessert has been covered with a cloth, all the sinks are clean, the fridge ordered, the saucepans tidy, the dishes stacked and the utensils all in order. I think I’d better go out walking again.