Ka-Boom

Funny old day.  I had to prod F into action, but we eventually went to the laiki. It meant having to share my Donkey with vegetables which isn't very 'rock star', but my adoring fans didn't seem to mind.

Donkey pulled up lame on the way home and we had to slow limp the last 50m or so.  F already had a long list of To-Do things on her whiteboard so Donkey just lay down in the kitchen surrounded by bags of chestnuts and boxes of eggs and olives while F wandered off with big snippers to tackle another bit of overgrown garden.  

Later, in a burst of unabashed consumerism, she also went out and bought some strings of Xmas lights for our balcony.  Mr B seems to enjoy the frustrations of Xmas lights, so they will be waiting for him to install when he gets back (a big yellow taxi came and took him away again last Thursday). 

Our kitchen clock died this week.  F bought a new one today.  She doesn't love the new clock. It was the least horrible one in the nearest shop that sells clocks.  Upon seeing its replacement, the old clock sprang to life and has kept perfect time since.

Sods law.

The clock shop didn't have great clocks but it did have some elegant Xmas lights (something of a rarity) so in a second breach of her consumer principles, F bought Mr B some new xmas tree lights; his old ones had 'gone on the blink' last year. So for Xmas lights he should be really well supplied now. 

Spinach got steamed, wrung out and frozen. Pumpkin got made into pie. Chestnuts got roasted in the oven with the pie.

Donkey.

Poor Donkey, he's still lying on the kitchen floor through all this activity.... F dug out her blacksmithing equipment.  This is what reshoeing a Donkey in your kitchen looks like.

 F was skinning roasted chestnuts and I was eating my rabbit dinner in the kitchen when the bomb went off.

KABOOM!

The blast sent chestnuts skittering all over the kitchen and had me checking the place for body parts. F burst out laughing but it was no laughing matter; put me right off my dinner, it did. Who knew there was so much couscous in a chestnut? It was stuck to the walls, floor, stove top, to the lights under the cupboards, all the hanging kitchen paraphenalia, the kitchen scales, F's face, the specs on top of her head, and me.

There was bits of chestnut guts nearly 3 metres from the blast epicentre and they had been several minutes out of the oven when it detonated.

Chestnut terrorism.

P.S. F wants to know how you coax a reluctant chestnut out of its hairy undershirt - suggestions anyone? This is a woman who eats kiwifruit with their fur on and she wants her chestnuts bald? I don't get it either.