A Queen's guide on how not to cook

            I am perfect in so many ways the list can go on and on, but one thing I cannot do is cook. Eating good food come's very easy and slides down beautifully when someone else cooks or pays for it, but making the stuff I'm buggered. All I can make is my man pot.            
         Years ago when I was young and single my dear old mother taught me how to make this one dish. Really it was a big stew that was Queen proof. Meat, vegetables, potatoes and gravy in a pot and then cook for a couple of hours in the oven. Every time I brought a man home for a meal I would cook this meal. Worked time and time again, the hunk would think he was dating Fanny Craddock. Then for the next few times I would make an excuse like, I'm too tired or have a headache. My best one was I'm on a diet so no solids for me just gin. I can go for days not eating, all I need is a fag and coffee.
         Now when I lived in Glasgow I shared a flat with my best friend and his flat mate who was the most disgusting and ugly Queen I have ever meet. All that I can say is this creature looked like Toad from Toad Hall with big bulging eyes and would waddle around the flat in a multi coloured kaftan that had holes from fag burns in places that made you feel queazy every time he bent over. We were all unemployed at the time and would take in turns when our giro's came through to buy shopping and cook.
        My day had arrived and as normal on giro day I was up dressed and showered before 7am waiting patiently for the brown envelope to drop through the letter box. Once it had arrived I minced down the street and waited in the queue for the post office to open. First things first was the rush to get a packet of cigarettes and then off to the supermarket to buy the food. Now we always wanted the cheapest food to make the money go as far as possible. I scanned the shop and the assistants, well I was single and always thought it would be handy to have a boyfriend who could get cheap food, there is no harm in looking. Coming across some cheap mince in the frozen section I thought I would grab it and make a variation or a cheaper version of the man pot.
        Home I skipped like Judy Garland along the yellow brick road. Once in and with Kylie belting out "I could be so lucky" in the back ground I set to work. Apron on, everything went into the saucepan. I chopped, sprinkled and cackled mixing up my concoction. All I needed was two more hags and we could be mistaken for the Three witches out of Macbeth. Oh I forgot the other two were still in bed. I had a couple of sips and thought the mince was a bit grizzly but then what do you expect for so much mince for only 97pence.
        Then around 11.30 the Toad appeared and lay on the sofa like the Queen of Sheba. He inquired what the beautiful smell was coming from the kitchen and when would it be ready. "Now" I informed him if he wanted some, getting a big bowl from the cupboard. Well, this Queen never did things in small  measures, I ladled out some of my mixture and handed it to him. As I returned to the kitchen I caught a glance of the packet of mince and ran straight to the bathroom.
        After ten minutes of heaving every item of food from my stomach, I composed myself to walk back in. What I had picked up at the frozen section was mince but not for humans but for dogs. As I entered the lounge to face the Toad and his complaining I was confronted by a large smile and the words straight from Oliver Twist "Please sir can I have some more?" Not a pretty sight at all.
 "Of course honey, Michael and I are on a Gin diet at the moment so you have the lot" Taking his bowl and filling it to the brim. At that moment Michael my other flat mate entered the room. Grabbing the empty mince packaging and then Michael's arm I screamed as I pulled him from the room, "Darling I've been up to my nipples in cooking all morning I need a Gin". Michael and I disappeared from the flat quicker than you can say poof.
       Every time after that when it was my turn to cook the Toad would always ask the night before if I was going to make that lovely mince dish again, but Michael would always chip in and make some excuse or  say that we had swapped roles that week. I never cooked in the flat again and left it to Michael or the Toad.