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30th May: Any Excuse for Booze Welsh Rarebit

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It’s been one of those days. My little darlings saw fit to start their shenanigans before 5am. Bloody battles over bouncy balls, bottles of water (yup!) all before 7am.

He had been up with them for a couple of hours, refereeing their spats, when he appeared in our bedroom. I won’t repeat the word he used to describe his delightful brood. It was a bad one. He looked so relieved to be going to work.

“Have a good day darl, see you at 6ish”.

I had an overwhelming urge to grab onto his legs to stop him from going. Like a crazed woman in some asylum I beg, “pleeeaaase don’t leave me with them”….

Woeful Wednesdays is the term me and a couple of friends have adopted.

Mine are at home all day, as are my friends’. A gang of 7 kids meet up to wreak havoc on various local beauty spots and tourist attractions. With varying disastrous consequences.

Today was one of those days where I am utterly bored of the sound of my own voice. Hollering my children’s names one after the other as they blunder from fights, to episodes of incontinence, to abject danger.

We claw a bit of joy back with a nice picnic and a swim in the sunshine. My friend invites us for tea at her house. I hesitate. Not because I don’t want to go. We don’t get invited round to people’s houses much any more. Not surprising as we are like some sort of Travelling Stress Roadshow.

I bite the bullet and we go. All goes relatively smoothly. A couple of minor territory disputes. But all eat their teas nicely and it’s nearly home time.

Then the Fusspot vomits all over their table. My friend, in some sort of domino-like effect, duly runs off to be sick herself. Her mum, a lovely lady in her 70s, ends up clearing up the mess because the Baby has started screaming the place down. They were very sweet about it, as they doused the place in antibacterial spray. I wonder when we’ll be invited back there….

He’s out tonight. I open the fridge hoping it has been loaded with M&S ready meals by my Fairy Godmother. Alas no. It is the usual sorry collection of post-mature vegetables and cling-film wrapped mystery cheeses.

There’s half a can of flat lager on the side. I decide on Welsh rarebit simply so I can have a supper with an ABV.

Spring onion cooked in butter. Add flour to make a roux, then stir in the beer to make a smooth sauce. Add grated cheddar (?), mustard and some Worcestershire sauce. I have some chorizo so chop some of that in too. Pour the mixture onto some lightly toasted bread and shove it under the grill until brown and bubbling.

A bubble bath, a glass of red and an early night await me upstairs. Along with the cheering thought that I have a morning all to myself tomorrow, then dinner out with friends. Onwards and upwards…





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