My kitchen is not what you’d describe as snazzy or equipped; it was probably last re-tiled about 25 years ago (in white, thankfully) but is definitely on the basic side of good.

The first rocky kitchen moment struck when we’d just moved in to our house (about 2 years ago now) and I realised, a shade too late, that it didn’t contain an oven.  A simple hob, yes, but nothing I could pop the raw, peppered whole chicken in to that I was clutching rather desperately in my two hands.

One of my lovely friends from England, having heard no doubt a much worse version of events from H, saw this and sent it to me:

It arrived in the post yesterday and sums up my attitude to domestic life really rather well, even if I don’t actually have a well equipped kitchen in my house (we get to eat roast chicken and other things because we built a wet kitchen out the back in the end).

Thank you V!

Old fashioned kitchen image courtesy of Mick Ricereto