Zoë Bowyer

I’m very pleased with myself I am. After days of human sloth, farting, crying, miserable, nicotine freeness, I have cooked dinner. Yes, I know, people have been doing this for centuries etc, so it is hardly a big deal.

On Monday I cooked, but barely finished due to major hissy fit, yesterday I planned to cook pancakes for pancake day but had another fit of woe-is-me. Today, I’ve made lasagne and plan to make the ricotta pancakes I couldn’t quite manage yesterday. With strawberries and ice-cream. Yum Yum. And I couldn’t care less about fagarettes!

Thing is, it could all taste totally minging and I wouldn’t care.