With Cook furiously clanging pots and pans and bellowing at her young kitchen hand for his ineptitude with the fire bellows and the correct slicing of her carrots – I’ve retreated to a quiet corner of Number 13 to scribble this missive to you.
For as today is Burns Night and in a nod to my Lord Byron’s Scottish ancestry even though he is far from Piccadilly – Cook is busy with preparations for supper including a delicious smoked fish soup and haggis served with mashed potato and swede OR her ‘speciality neeps and tatties’ as she insists on calling them in an attempt at a painful imitation of a Scottish accent.
As Cook has never ventured further than Bethnal Green throughout the whole course of her life and her claim to Scottish Royal blood tenuous at best – I do wonder at her ridiculous manner at times.
However, as there will be some Tipsy Laird for dessert – I will hold my tongue save for a silent prayer that there will be no unfortunate error with that salt pot – again!
Before I must take (or suffer!) another cup o’ kindness yet – is it too early in the day for a ‘wee dram’ of my Lord’s finest Scotch whiskey?
Asking for a friend…