November 16th 2016

Today my Grandad came round for dinner. We agreed to meet for dinner at 6:30pm, but at 6:50 he still hadn’t showed. I started to worry, as he’s usually early – if anything. So I phoned him.

Him: Hello Jimbob

Me: Hey, are you on your way?

Him: I’m already here.

Me: What do you mean you’re already here?

Him: I’ve been here for twenty minutes.

Me: What do you mean? Where are you?

Him: Where we were last time.

He was at the Beefeater, round the corner. It turns out I forgot to mention that he would coming to our house for dinner, although to be fair I didn’t mention anything about the Beefeater…

Eventually though, he arrived. Alice cooked a nice Steak and Ale pie with roasted vegetables. My one contribution to the meal was to be the gravy. Apart from arranging the dinner, the gravy was to be my only task. I somehow fucked them both up.

I thought (slash Alice suggested) that I should use the hot water from the boiled vegetables to make the gravy with. It’s something I’ve seen my Dad do a lot, I assume that it’s to give the gravy extra flavour, but to be honest it might be just so he doesn’t have to waste electricity boiling the kettle.

Idk if you (whoever you are) have ever made gravy before, but it’s pretty hard to do badly. You add one or two spoonfuls of gravy granules and you add hot water. It’s like making a cup of coffee. It’s really easy.

Short story short I put too much water in the jug, and I’d used the last of the gravy granules so I couldn’t thicken it with another scoop of stock.

Dinner was ruined. That may sound dramatic, but you underestimate how much I like gravy. And gravy has to be thick.

The good news is, though, that excess gravy meant I was able to have three slices of bread, butter and gravy after dinner. Mopping up the gravy with a piece of bread is my favourite part of a roast dinner. My Mum banned me from ever doing it outside of our house because she thinks it’s tacky, but I’ve got my own house now, so I can mop to my stomach’s content.

This post was not originally meant to be about gravy, it just kind of went that way. It was supposed to be about how I managed to mess up my only two jobs for the evening, and how I managed to ruin a dinner that almost never happened. And how that is representative of my struggles with this transitional period of my life as I adapt to adulthood.

Until tomorrow, did that message come across amid all of that gravy chat?



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