13th September
I run a tight ship: I believe in routine. I was preparing lunch for precisely 11.45am so that the baby doesn’t get too hungry. I turned on the ring to boil the rice and the gas ran out. I put a Muppets DVD on for Big Sister to watch and provided Baby Sister with a bread stick to chew on. With the kids appropriately occupied I spent approximately twenty minutes squatted on the front deck peering into the gas locker. It doesn’t take The Doctor that long to change a gas bottle, but being of the fairer sex, I’m in there knocking the spanner with a brick trying to undo the fitting, and attempting to ignore my arachnophobia as the eight-legged occupants of the gas locker scuttle away from the noise of clanging metal. The new gas bottle is finally connected and I return indoors to put the rice on to boil. Lunch will now be in thirty minutes time. My Gina Ford book doesn’t cover this eventuality. The routine is stuck up the Stort without a paddle.
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