The next two days are mine

There's not a lot to report for Friday. I avoided work as far as possible; dogs were walked and TP was given a modicum of assistance with his latest project, which is the construction of a cheese press.

Over the past few weeks, he has made ricotta and mozzarella and is now investigating the making of hard cheeses.  He has set his sights on producing a farmhouse cheddar and is in the R&D phase of the project. This morning I discovered him attempting to reorganising the garage and when I say "the garage" I clearly mean "my garage", so some gentle paternal guidance was provided.*  After a couple of hours he had constructed a working prototype and then headed upstairs to source a bacterial culture. ***

I've already mentioned that it was a quiet day, so I'll mention a couple of conversations we had as dinner was being prepared this week.

I suppose I had better set the scene. 30% tends to come in from work around 6.35 pm and we all tend to congregate in the kitchen for a drinks, nibbles and a chat about our days, whilst our evening meal is assembled.

The first conversation was with Marauder, who was mooching around begging for treats. I offered her a tortilla chip, which she wolfed down. She then looked up at me and asked if I didn't have anything better than "those crappy Mexican dog biscuits"!

The second was more of a learning experience for me ...

Thursday's dinner was a salad with baked potatoes and slices of pigeon and chicken terrine.  I had made the terrine a few months back and part of it had been frozen. I had also been instructed to put potatoes in the oven, so that they were ready shortly after 30% came in from work.

I learnt that it is not wise to claim that I had cooked dinner and that 30%'s sole contribution was the addition of garnish.

---

* It would be fair to say that I am somewhat territorial about the garage. At this point it might be worth picturing a crazed, alpha male chimp having a full-on, screaming tantrum including the waving of branches and the throwing of faeces when his territory is invaded. It is, after all, my garage.
30% is, grudgingly, permitted entry provided she limits her activities to the deposit or removal of items from the freezer.
TP needs close supervision as, at the tender age of 23, he has yet to be trusted to follow the rules of the garage.**
** 1) Don't touch anything
     2) If you touch anything, put it back exactly where you took
         it from
     3) If it's plugged in and switched on, fucking leave it plugged
         in and switched on
     4) If you don't know what you're doing, ask
     5) see rule no. 1
*** Take your choice between an internet searching session or a commentary on the state of his bedroom!