Recipe for Disaster

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Recently, I bought a monkfish as a treat for my husband. "Great, he said. I'll cook it in Mediterrannean sauce." He needed onions--we're fresh out of them; garlic salt- its rock hard; sundried tomatoes-we haven't any. So I have to go out again and get them.

Then he needs white wine. Find the bottle. Search for the corkscrew--it gets stuck with the crew. Call in the neighbour--he can't budge it. Husband and neighbour go to front gate and stand either side of it with the bottle through the slats. They pull. Cork pops out, husband hurtles backwards, through the rose bushes across lawn, his glasses fly off, so does his slippers. He ends up in a tree on far side of the lawn. Not a drop of wine spilt. Blood, YES. Shirt and trousers ruined by rose bushes. And how much wine does he need? Two splashes. Oh dear oh! Next time it would just be fish and chips from the shop for us.

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