A neighbour, and a very amusing neighbour at that, came round to see us unexpectedly and two bottles of rather fine French wine later, I am in no condition whatsoever to cook paella or even spell it. Appalling I know. Michael Portillo was right, we are middle class alkies and that’s being polite. But what fun. That slow descent into “I don’t really care-dom”. The acceptance that a calorific Indian takeaway (don’t worry, no drink driving, they deliver) will be a far better option that me attempting to re-create Keith Floyd’s recipe for a truly delicious paella.
Naughty, naughty!
25 Sunday Mar 2012
Posted in Getting on, Life
