Food for THOUGHT

Mr Dear has a confession... about frozen veg

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One morning last week I discovered something which rocked my marriage to its very foundations.

In fact, it wouldn’t surprise me to discover that my marriage is early Georgian, when builders just put down a few planks and hoped for the best.

I was leaving for work at the charity shop, and issued my usual instructions about lunch. Mr Dear is obviously old enough to make his own lunch, but it would be foolish to take any chances.

‘There’s some of that chicken left over,’ I said, ‘and you can have it with the carrots and peas from last night.’

‘Hmm,’ he said.

‘What do you mean by “hmm”?’

‘Well,’ he said, leaving a long pause before delivering the blow. ‘The thing is, I don’t really like peas.’

‘What do you mean you don’t like peas?’

‘They don't really taste of anything.’

‘They taste of peas.’

‘And you have to chase the last ones round the plate, and you know I don’t like food that you have to work at.’

We have been yoked together for more than 40 years, and this is the first time he has mentioned any dislike of peas. In fact, any previous discussion has been limited to ‘Could I have some more peas, love’.