Last night, I attempted, against all medical advice, to cook my own dinner, with the accompanying, but slightly terrifyingly ominous, "Ah, that'll probably be alright" and "It looks clean enough...", which, if I recall, is the sound coming out of an NHS surgery according to Republicans (Smell that? Smells like satire. Oh, that might be my cooking).
Anyways, I was attempting to rustle up a simple chicken korma, I didn't even have to cook the rice, I had a processed brick of the stuff I had to microwave, so in reality all I had to do was fry some chicken, pour in some sauce and add the microwaved rice, then consume from the pan. I even pushed the boat out and popped some naan breads in the oven. I know, but don't worry, despite this Grecian god-like prowess in the kitchen, I am, infact, just a man.
Pleasingly, I thought the whole process had gone simply marvellously, as I sat nibbling on naan bread and rice. "My" I thought. "This was a considerable success." went through my head as I watched "Let's Go To Prison". I went to bed, well-nourished and pleased with myself.
Disappointingly, though, it soon started, this sense of deep unease and internal chaos from within my internal organs. Suddenly, I developed a fever! Nightmare. I was up till 3 am, sweating profusely. Luckily, though, I soon fell asleep to have nightmares, causing me to wake up, periodically, going "Argh" and coated in a light film of sweat.
Lesson learnt. Tonight for dinner I order pizza.
(I didn't have anything more interesting to talk about, such is the riveting adventure that is my life.)