It's Today?! - The Story of My Life

Who knows maybe with the incentive, I may keep this diary, and not just as a collections of rants, and updates ever time I get ill. I mean seriously, two entries in three years? Both saying "I'm sick"?

For the diary comp. Winner of May.


10. Cookery and college 22-5-15

Well to start, I’m so pleased! I got another piece of revision marked, and I got an A! I couldn’t believe it! I am so happy right now.


My mother had a friend round earlier, and they were swapping recipes. Her friend was teaching her a new way to make bread that involved very exact measurements. Now my mother was bought up on slapdash, Slovenian peasant food, like goulash, and cannot even cope to follow a recipe, let alone measure it out exactly. I was preparing a pork joint for supper while they were cooking, and I could see she was right one edge, and it really reminded me of a story she used to tell about her father.

He was a… fiery man, to say the least. One day he got fed up with my grandmother’s cooking, which was very precise and British. She had a complicated relationship with food, and would never cook for herself. She was planning on making an apple pie, and started peeling them, and my grandfather stormed in, and another of their long screaming matches ensued. Eventually my grandfather turned to her and said.

“You know. I can make your bloody apple pie without the recipe. I don’t even need a bowl! Look! I’ll make it directly on the surface!” and he did. He made a mound with the flour, and cracked the eggs into it, mixed the butter and the sugar together.

When the pie came out, it apparently had the consistency of leather. My mother and her siblings knew better than to complain or mention it at the time, but forever after it’s been known as the inedible “leather pie”.


My sister apparently actually did some art today at college. Unbelievable right? On an art course. The poor girl is severally dyslexic, and so she’s spent most the year of her level 2 art btec filling in forms. She can neither read nor write with ease, or at all. Anyhow, she was showing off the work she’d done, and as usual, Mum and I were taking the mick out of the cover of her sketchbook.

She’d redone it after we’d been rude (she’d glued two mismatched, badly cut pieces of fabric to the front), and now it she’d replaced a piece of the design, and added some. We were still being derogatory towards it, as it still looked rather ramshackled and badly done. My sister, the ever positive, was trying desperately to find something good about it. Eventually she said.

“Well, at least blind people will like it!” My sister, making art for people who cannot see. I just thought it was too sweet.

Of course my mother and I laughed, but don’t worry, we also apologised for being mean. She knew we didn’t really mean it.



My mother announced I should become a chef at the dinner table today, which I guess is a good compliment to my cooking. She quite likes to be rude about it generally. Granted, I did burn the fish and leave it raw in the middle, but it’s hard to cook something you don’t eat! I’ve inherited her version of making up recipes, but my father’s understanding of spices and flavours. I’ve got more my mother’s sense of smell however, so I can smell how things taste together, rather than just guess and pray for the best. I enjoy it unlike my mother.

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