ERROL PARKER | Editor-at-large | Contact
EACH MORNING BEFORE WORK, Graham Watkins looks at his coconut-flavoured jellybean of a body in the mirror and ponders whether he should wait until his first cardiac episode before he makes any lifestyle changes.
Last night, he decided to make a change.
The 25-year-old’s usual Tuesday night dinner was more often than not a toasted sandwich, complete with taco mince and some leftover cheddar. He agrees it was fine when he was a younger man, but lying on the couch having heart palpitations watching the 7:30 Report each night was not what he had in mind for his future.
Graham’s mother, Gale (64) gave him a hardcover edition of Jamie’s 15 Minute Meals for Christmas last year, which has done nothing except collect a thin layer of grease and dust on the shelf above the toaster.
“I thought, ‘Fuck it, I’ll give the bloke a go,” said Watkins.
“Half an hour isn’t long when you consider what you get the end of it. Last night, I had a flick through and decided on making this Spanish chicken bullshit where you wrap the fucking thing up with stuffing and the whole shebang,”
“Good practice, though. Because last fucking night, it took a bit longer than half a fucking hour. I ate dinner at like 9pm. That’s Spanish alright. Imagine if I was cooking for someone else? It was good, but.”
But that wasn’t just the end of his night of troubles which began with him not having any cumin, Moroccan five-spice or a tajine.
Every knife in the house was also blunt because he lives with people who ruin nice things. When asked by The Advocate if he’d do it again, Watkins said he would not.
“I mean, if the bloke said they were two-hour meals like they fucking are, then maybe I’d have a go once a quarter or so, you know?” he said.
“But as for every night, he can go squat on a cricket stump. Cooking dinner last night wasn’t fun at all. I’d rather have a stroke at 30 than do that every night.”