Welcome to the final part of the HOOKS FOR HANDS Trilogy.
Christ on a bike, where to start?
Well firstly I suppose to say that Celeb MasterChef is over and I really enjoyed it. Three deserving finalists and a worthy winner!
I know what you're thinking, there's an elephant in this metaphorical room and you're bastard well right. The winner only has one arm. The thought had occurred to me that she might consider a hook. She was wearing a regular prosthetic hand in one pic they showed so that's all the information we really have.
Could a hook have been handy for cooking? You could certainly pin down a side of beef with it ready to carve with your other arm but too much welly and you might find yourself entangled with the table top. Meanwhile your chick pea foam boils over the top of the saucepan. Nobody wants that do they?
She didn't fucking need one anyway, she won! She was superb! And of course any cooking purist has an Authentic V.
It chips, it chops, it slices, it dices! And don't forget the miracle spiral cutter!
Anyway the best thing she made was a South African dish called Bobotie. I'd never tried it but was intrigued enough to make it, which I did last night. But not without interruptions. I was about to take the mother out of the oven when the phone rang.
Gran: Hello can you hear me?
Me: Yes I can hear you Clem Fandango!
Gran: Hello can you hear me?
Me: Yes!
Gran: Oh good! I want to watch Strictly Come Dancing on the computer.
Me: I'm not stopping you.
Gran: It's not working.
Me: Have you tried turning the telly on instead?
Gran: I can't.
Me (now feeling a brain haemorrhage coming on): Why not?
Gran: I'm at your Uncle Phil's. He won't allow it.
Uncle Phil in the background: I won't have this freak show on my TV! This is how COVID started!
Me (whispers): Fucking hell.
Gran: How do I get it on the computer. I need my headphones because Phil says he doesn't want his ears raped by degeneracy.
Me: Hang on for a sec, there's someone at the door.
Gran: Ok.
I walk outside, shut the door and scream FUCK as loudly as I can.
Me (deep breath): Is the computer on?
Gran: No.
Me: How about the headphones?
Gran: No they're not on either.
Me (exasperated): So you've tried nothing and you're out of ideas?
Gran: I've tried the button.
Me: Which button?
Gran: The big one.
Me: Which one's the big one?
Gran: The one that's lit up.
Me: On the computer?
Gran: On Phil's kettle.
Me (feeling like I'm having a stroke): He hasn't got an electric kettle! Right, put Phil on now.
Uncle Phil (distant): Tell him the Wi-Fi is for emergencies.
Gran: Strictly is on in ten minutes. Is that an emergency?
Me and Phil in unison: Not in my fucking lifetime!
Me: You know if I didn't love you I'd have to kill you.
Gran: I've killed people. Dozens.
Me: I know but you're not supposed to talk about that!
I put the phone down on the worktop. The Bobotie is burnt to fuck and inedible. Somewhere in Uncle Phil's kitchen, a kettle is on the verge of exploding. I know how it feels.
