Friday, 21 October 2011

If you can't stand the heat,don't set fire to the kitchen.

I would describe myself as "domestically challenged" and I have no shame in being out and proud about it. Rather like I found it was no big thing for me to come dancing out of the closet, I find it just as easy to come running out of the kitchen.

If the kitchen hadn't come attached to the side of the flat I wouldn't even bother having one. I refer to it "as that place off the living room" and I only really ever go in there to chill wine or to wash my clothes. When I first viewed my flat it was the one room I casually popped my head around and then promptly turned my back on (which is exactly what I do to people I secretly hate  - but with a withering look and insults muttered under my breath).
I haven't really changed anything about the kitchen since I moved in. I've painted it a couple of times and I've thrown some red wine up the walls when I've been really drunk but much like the short, boring one in every boyband or the one with the really ratty weave in every girlband my kitchen is relegated to back up moves and silent harmonies while the bedroom, bathroom, living room and (walk in) wardrobe take centre stage and strut their stuff.

I don't know if my phobia of kitchens stems from my childhood.  The oven in our house was only switched on when my mother wanted to light a cigarette and if you wanted something to eat then it had better fit into a toaster. I've always maintained that my mother invented the "supermodel diet". She smoked cigarettes, only ever drank black tea (sometimes she would allow herself a slice of lemon) and she sometimes ate a slice of toast. Anything else was deemed "fattening". If there was a potato in the house it was only there for her to launch at the back of my fathers head.


I have been known to watch cookery shows but that's because I like to see Nigella Lawson sucking on her fingers and Jamie Oliver getting tongue tied over a root vegetable. Have you seen the size of Jamie Oliver's tongue? It's like a Parma ham on steroids. 
I saw him milking a cow once and I seriously couldn't tell where the teats began and the tongue ended.
I absolutely adore Nigella Lawson and her sluttish, suggestive ways. She looks as if it wasn't for the presence of a camera crew watching her every move she would be knocking back the cooking sherry, taking a nap on her granite work surfaces and burning the house down.
She's posh, she looks like she loves to drink and she's got money to burn. These are the kind of women who know how to cook but don't have the first clue how to tidy up afterwards. 

The main reason I go into my kitchen is because I have a chalk board attached to the wall and I like to write things on it to motivate me in the morning. Mostly really important stuff like "I will brush my teeth", "I will change my underwear" "I will pay my rent".
 I had to buy the chalk board because I had a habit of taking a pen to the walls. It was very upsetting for my ex partner when he walked into the kitchen and I'd daubed "RedRum, RedRum" in red marker over every flat surface. (If you haven't seen The Shining then you don't know what the hell I'm talking about).

Although I've never understood people who spend a lot of money on their kitchen I'm even more suspicious of people who have their bed in the same room as their cornflakes ( those who live in a "bedsit"). I know I sound a terrible snob but I think if I had to sleep in the same room as I boiled my beans and I washed my underwear I'd put my pillow directly onto the middle shelf and turn the oven up to gas mark six. 
My oven is handy for drying underwear, otherwise I wouldn't have one and as much as I ignore the room with the kettle in it I do like to use it to hide stuff. It's no use bringing someone home when you've got last Fridays takeaway fermenting under your duvet.
A kitchen is good for storage, but it's not attractive when you can lay flat out on the bed and turn the grill on with your toes, although if you can mix a cocktail without having to kick back the covers I'll be over like road runner.

My kitchen is really the most eclectic room in my flat. It's eclectic because it has things in there you should never find in a kitchen. I'm not talking about dismembered limbs or exotic animals. I'm talking about roller skates and violins. Stuff I pick up and think, "Ooo, I need that" "That will be really useful when I open my roller disco, kite flying emporium" "That stuffed penguin will look perfect on top of my washer/dryer".

I've actually bought some batons that I want to learn to juggle with. They are the type of batons that you set fire to and then throw high into the air. I'm thinking of putting on my roller skates, firing up the batons and doing a little routine.
I've wrote a little reminder on my chalk board to make sure I've switched the gas off first and removed all flammable objects because it's true, if you can't stand the heat, then don't set fire to your kitchen.





1 comment:

  1. HAHA love it !! and I'd just been compiling suitably festive cheesecake recipes !! LOL

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