The Day after Tomorrow

Coffee anyone? 

Yes, lets make it liqueur and add fermented

potatoes of the Russian variety.  

Well it seemed like a good idea following the...

what I can only describe as carnage at the 

dining table. 

I had invited my whole gang round for dinner.

I had lovingly prepared a whole slow roasted

jerk seasoned chicken. Homemade jerk gravy

from the jus. Homemade mac and cheese , 

Jamaican style rice and peas, kale, Mexican

seasoned chicken fillets, fries, southern fried

chicken strips, plain boiled basmati rice.

And a pot noodle. 

All while attempting the robot to my 90s

euphoria playlist.

Four teenagers, three pre teens, three under

fives, four adults.

And a staffy laying not so quietly in wait...

Of course, the staffy is strictly banned from 

being fed titbits.

Digestive sensitivities apparently.

Which she seems to understand perfectly...

while lying under the table in quiet anticipation

of an all-you-can eat buffet.

All that was missing was a partridge in a 

pear tree.

So there I am, feeling like a culinary goddess.

The kids were all sat at the table looking angelic.

minutes earlier they had been ready to end each

other, with one almost swinging from the

lampshade. 

I serve the food...

Nine children. 

Nine tiny food critics.

One who would quite happily live on fruit.

One that doesn't trust sauce. 

One that thought the chicken looked too...

chickeny.

And one staffy who decided that everything was delicious.

Including the kale. 

Family fed... or at least an attempt was made.

Then came the mass clean up. 

My trusty 90s euphoria banging out the tunes. 

And a dusty bottle of Tia Maria side eyeing-me. 

I suggest cocktails to my adult offspring...

And this is where things start to get messy.

Bearing in mind I had not drunk for almost two years. 

The kitchen is clean and the party is in fully swing. 

One Black Russian turned into two.

Two turned into the kind of confidence that 

convinces you turning your kitchen into an

illegal rave is an excellent idea. 

All that was missing were the strobe lights and 

glow sticks. 

The neighbours can only count their lucky stars

that I didn't find a whistle.

It's all fun and games... until the day after.

You wake up questioning your life choices.

You need food to soak up the atrocities from the

night before, but the thought of anything edible

turns your whole body green in a flat second. 

So it was a sofa and duvet day.

I can only be grateful that my offspring still

living at home are old enough to feed themselves.

And possess the vital life skill of 

knowing how to use Deliveroo.

No more illegal raves for me.

Or at least not ones that involve me getting

rat-arsed.

Tonight I will stick to coffee. 

Proper decaffeinated coffee.

Minus the Tia Maria and the fermented

Russian potatoes.