Undomestic cave person

Undomestic-cave-person – adjective
“To be completely useless at the most simplest of domestic tasks
Example: Hannah Cooper is an undomestic-cave-person”

Anyone that lives in my halls, Frankie witnesses this the most, knows that I am beyond help with cooking. I cannot cook. Anything. In previous blogs I’ve told you about how I survive on pasta and vitamin tablets but alas, I have broadened my horizons and this diet now includes whole meal rolls. Whack a bit of cheese and ham in there and chuck in under the grill and voila! A cheese and ham toasty. How very cultured of me.

My most recent example of my domestic failings is a home-made subway. It snowed in London yesterday. I was supposed to go to the library but as it had snowed and I had left all my shoes that would be suitable for snow at home (they wouldn’t fit in my case and I had more important things to fit in their such as Rabbit and my new dresses) I was refusing to leave the building. So Frankie came up to drink tea and bum around with me – as usual – and we decided we were hungry.

For my first shop back at Uni I had really pushed the boat out and bought some of those rolls that you heat up in the oven and then when you cover them in butter they taste beyond lush. I will just add that this was for mine and Rhys’ wine catch up evening but that isn’t the point. I had one left so I was going to make me and Frankels a half sub each. How simple does that sound?

It isn’t.

I cut the rolls in ‘half’ ready to fill with cheese. How does anyone on this Earth manage to do that sort of thing wrong? Well as you can probably guess I did. One side was a ruler width thick and the other resembled a layer of clingfilm. For the love of God.

But the other one looked ok so I allocated Frankie that one. Such a good host.

When I gave Frankie hers I said “I gave you the better cut one”. No words left Frankie’s mouth but I could tell from her expression that her thoughts probably read something along the lines of “If this is the better cut one, what the hell is yours like?” and then she burst out laughing as I put mine onto the plate. The bacon was thicker than the other half of my bread. She continued to laugh about my Jamie Oliver-esque skills as I proceeded to ‘what is life’ my way around the kitchen.

Despite their low aesthetic rating they tasted lush.

We then decided for our house next year that perhaps we could have a cooking rota. That would be nice. We also decided that on my day we would probably be getting takeaway to maintain the health of our fellow flatmates. Charming. Franks also came up with the suggestion that I should probably stick to the washing up. After I had made her such a nutritious balanced sandwich? Pfft. That is gratitude for you…

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