Catherine was, by her own omission, a terrible cook. So when, for their anniversary, she’d offered to cook a romantic meal Peter was filled with both pride and horror.
Peter stared through the train window. The idea that Catherine be left in the kitchen alone with a diamond-cut knife was one thing, but throw into the mix boiling water, searing hot pans and a complete lack of respect for logic and timing and you’ve got yourself a recipe for disaster.
As the train pulled in he was comforted by the sight of 3 chip shops, and an Indian takeaway.
The names used within this piece are purely fictional and any baring on myself and my gorgeous lady wife of whom I have the utmost respect, admiration and love are purely coincidental.
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