To Cook or not to Cook, that is the question.

Living on its own has its perks, no one to answer to, come and go as you please and potentially walk around in your undies. Like everything else in this world it’s a double-edged sword. You have to clean up after your self, gotta walk in the snow to get groceries and really understand the meaning behind domestic help. If you grew up in a labour cheap country as I did, you really wish you brought some along for the ride. Brings new meaning to the term ‘old habits die hard’ when you walk in to your house expecting a warm cooked meal ready for you and instead get a pile of messy dishes in the sink. I read somewhere that you can keep your dirty dishes in the fridge if you don’t want to stink up the kitchen, not that I ever do it or advocating it but knowledge is power you know.
I like to cook, and consider myself a fairly decent one considering my lack of experience in this department but I don’t like to cook everyday. Day in day out. Two or three times a week is fine but not every fucking day. Wouldn’t it be lovely to have an unlimited supply of things in life like cigarettes and petrol. Or Charlize Theron. Or common sense. Case in point I was at Selfridges picking a gift for my niece when I happened to come across a section with clinical looking bottles everywhere. I forget the name but they were selling ahem scorpions dipped in chocolate, worm flavoured gin and vodka and a variety of other insects all farm bred mind you dipped in a variety of sweets. The best was bar b q flavoured worms and tea leaves picked by specially trained monkeys. Looking at it did not make me the least bit hungry, but in fact it did make me sleep better at night. For if you can sell that to people, then my future in advertising is secure.