What was ironic was the fact that I was over the worse of my cold and the symptoms had almost gone. However, off I went to the surgery to have the GP ask what was wrong. I wanted to say, "Nothing, Nothing at all, I often just fancy visiting a GP for no reason on a Sunday afternoon" But no, I put on my best 'Oh I'm dying' voice generated a cough or two and told her I was still full of cold. All in the hope I would get my note.
A couple of weeks ago, after coming back from a trip Kuwait I woke up in the morning with my face half distorted. OMG, it was horrible, my left eye was really red and badly swollen, I could hardly see out of it. I wondered what the hell could have happened over night. This time, although I didn't need a sick note, I did visit the doctor to get a diagnosis. I couldn't believe it when the doctor asked me what was wrong. What is wrong with these people? Why do they spend years and years in medical school to instantly ask their patients what's wrong?
At the time I wanted to stand up and shake her and say, "What? Are you serious? Do you think I always walk around looking like this?" But no, being the nice, pleasant, respectable person that I am, I smiled and pointed to my eye and say, "Oh I think I might have an eye infection" of which she prescribed some drops and sent me on my way.
Anyway, after the doctor's visit, I went to the foreign exchange place to change my unused Rials into UAE Dirhams. However, the man behind the counter took them off me, counted them twice and then proceeded to say, that he couldn't take them as they were WET.
Wet. I couldn't believe it, it had been almost 3 days since my dip in the sea, surely they couldn't still be wet. Obviously I pretended I didn't know what he was on about and took them away from him instantly, mumbling under my breath something about wet money was worth the same as dry money, wasn't it?
As many of my family and close friends know, I'm not really a dab hand in the kitchen. Don't get me wrong, I can cook (or I used to be able to), I just don't like it. I can't think of anything worse than spending hours, chopping, peeling, blanching, boiling etc for everyone to finish their meal in 5 minutes flat. It's a standard joke in our house, that if it's my turn for dinner, we order from the 3rd draw down (the one with the take-away menus). If I do cook, the house is usually filled with sarcastic comments for at least 2 hours afterwards about how bad the meal was.
Anyway, my darling husband he had left me with instructions to make garlic chicken with vegetables. Nothing wrong with that I thought, and it was great that he was actually out whilst I was preparing. Although he likes to have a night off once in a while from the cooking, he just can't help himself from interfering. He pops into the kitchen, starts to stir things, adding ingredients and generally getting in the way, it drives me crazy. However, he was out and I was free to do what I wanted.
Unfortunately, about 10 minutes later I was on the phone calling him for advice. Eventually, my eldest son, came in the kitchen and took over, showing me the 'right way' to do it. On the outside, I was pleasantly surprised, enjoying this rare moment with my first born (he's lived away for 2 years). However, on the inside, I was horrified. What was this? my 22 year old son, who never used to know what a kitchen was, was showing ME how to cook. How did that happen?
He cut the chicken, added the garlic butter and wrapped the bacon around the breasts. I did my bit, I turned on the oven on and put them in the baking tray, We made a great team :) To spice things up, I added some of the melted garlic butter to the gravy and started to serve up dinner.
My hubby saw what I did and was horrified. "Oh my god, what have you done?" he winced, shaking his shoulders and pulling the most ugliest of faces. My god, anyone would have thought I had poisoned him. Needless to say, this started all 4 of them off. Half of them being polite and saying it was lovely, the other two saying they wanted his 'none garlic gravy' which he had already proceeded to make.
I stood my ground and started eating my meal, defiant that there was nothing wrong with it. However, the strong garlic taste did leave a bit to be desired. Once it was obvious I had had enough, and half the meal remained on my plate. I denied everything, 'the meal was lovely' I told them, it's just the Paul McKenna hypnosis is working, I can't eat another thing.
In all fairness to Paul Mc, the CD is working, but it's always a great get out clause :) in emergencies.
At the time I wanted to stand up and shake her and say, "What? Are you serious? Do you think I always walk around looking like this?" But no, being the nice, pleasant, respectable person that I am, I smiled and pointed to my eye and say, "Oh I think I might have an eye infection" of which she prescribed some drops and sent me on my way.Anyway, after the doctor's visit, I went to the foreign exchange place to change my unused Rials into UAE Dirhams. However, the man behind the counter took them off me, counted them twice and then proceeded to say, that he couldn't take them as they were WET.
Wet. I couldn't believe it, it had been almost 3 days since my dip in the sea, surely they couldn't still be wet. Obviously I pretended I didn't know what he was on about and took them away from him instantly, mumbling under my breath something about wet money was worth the same as dry money, wasn't it?
As many of my family and close friends know, I'm not really a dab hand in the kitchen. Don't get me wrong, I can cook (or I used to be able to), I just don't like it. I can't think of anything worse than spending hours, chopping, peeling, blanching, boiling etc for everyone to finish their meal in 5 minutes flat. It's a standard joke in our house, that if it's my turn for dinner, we order from the 3rd draw down (the one with the take-away menus). If I do cook, the house is usually filled with sarcastic comments for at least 2 hours afterwards about how bad the meal was.
Anyway, my darling husband he had left me with instructions to make garlic chicken with vegetables. Nothing wrong with that I thought, and it was great that he was actually out whilst I was preparing. Although he likes to have a night off once in a while from the cooking, he just can't help himself from interfering. He pops into the kitchen, starts to stir things, adding ingredients and generally getting in the way, it drives me crazy. However, he was out and I was free to do what I wanted.
Unfortunately, about 10 minutes later I was on the phone calling him for advice. Eventually, my eldest son, came in the kitchen and took over, showing me the 'right way' to do it. On the outside, I was pleasantly surprised, enjoying this rare moment with my first born (he's lived away for 2 years). However, on the inside, I was horrified. What was this? my 22 year old son, who never used to know what a kitchen was, was showing ME how to cook. How did that happen?
He cut the chicken, added the garlic butter and wrapped the bacon around the breasts. I did my bit, I turned on the oven on and put them in the baking tray, We made a great team :) To spice things up, I added some of the melted garlic butter to the gravy and started to serve up dinner.
My hubby saw what I did and was horrified. "Oh my god, what have you done?" he winced, shaking his shoulders and pulling the most ugliest of faces. My god, anyone would have thought I had poisoned him. Needless to say, this started all 4 of them off. Half of them being polite and saying it was lovely, the other two saying they wanted his 'none garlic gravy' which he had already proceeded to make.
I stood my ground and started eating my meal, defiant that there was nothing wrong with it. However, the strong garlic taste did leave a bit to be desired. Once it was obvious I had had enough, and half the meal remained on my plate. I denied everything, 'the meal was lovely' I told them, it's just the Paul McKenna hypnosis is working, I can't eat another thing.
In all fairness to Paul Mc, the CD is working, but it's always a great get out clause :) in emergencies.
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