This disaster befell upon myself, before I start.
When I was about thirteen I developed quite a passion for cooking. I couldn't understand why my contemporaries in school had no idea on how to boil an egg never mind something a little more taxing.
So, it was summer holidays. My mother had taken my sister somewhere, my father is at work. I'm on my own, the stereo going full blast. Feeling peckish I raid the fridge. While looking around in it I notice the duck in the chiller. I know what I'll do, cook the duck for dinner, save my mother making it. Be in her good books!
So did. Duck in orange sauce with all the bits, courteously of Mrs. Beaton.
The tribe arrive home, my mother can't believe what I've achieved and says what a good boy I've been. Veg are all ready, orange sauce just so, duck needs to be a little more crispy skinned says my mother. No it's just right says I. No, more crispy says my mother and turns the oven up full. I go upstairs to do me ablutions and come back down to a duck that is now a lump of charcoal!
I think I swore for the first time at my mother and that I would not be eating the duck! I went out for a ride on the bike to calm down
fabulous.
