Healthy Goodness
When I was about 6 or 7 my mother had to go into hospital for a few weeks leaving dad in charge of my two older siblings, 12 and 14, and myself.

Mum had spent many weeks in the run up to her operation "training" my dad into household routine. Bin days, washing machine instructions, how to turn the vacuum cleaner on and such like; but for some reason cooking lessons did not get mentioned because "I know how to cook" was my dad's respnse to all attempts of "training".

And indeed , he did know how to cook, because whilst he would never help out in the kitchen when mum was around (this was in the 1970's) he had SEEN cooking being done whilst waiting at various burger vans and mobile butty shops -(he worked in the buillding industry).

So, after about two days after mum had gone in to the hospital her carefully prepared balanced meals had been emptied from the fridge and dad started cooking.

First attempt was at breakfast and we had, - a typical english fried breakfast, and very good to, a little burnt, a little raw but y'know? - ok.

Second attempt was for the evening meal, ("Tea" as we say up north)- a typical english breakfast, much better than the first, not perfect but y'know? - ok

Third attempt was breakfast on day two, and you guessed it - a full engish breakfast.

Now fast forward about 5 days, my 14 year old fashion victim and overly concerned about her size sister had gained around 13stone (slight exaggeration possible) , and my 12 year old just entering puberty brother was basically just a large walking black head, liberally spotted with volcanic sized zits.

Personally I was loving it- grown up food compared to my normal "ever-so-childish" scrambled egg with toast soldiers.

Alas, budgeting constraints for a household was clearly not a strong point for my dad because suddenly the fried breakfasts one day were replaced with cereal, pa'h!

PA'H!

For the benefit of young people, cereals were shit in the old days. "Rice Crispies" was the exotic one, and only posh people ate "Frosties".

And the main, in fact only ingredient for the evening meal was., was...., was....... SPAM.

Fried!

In batter!

The so called "Spam-Fritter" was the only other thing my dad could cook, (except for one disastrous attempt at making dessert- banana fritters). And whilst I could eat fried breakfasts 24 /7, and I would reluctantly eat cereal, the Spam Fritter saga was, even to this day, the worst food I have ever eaten.

When my mum eventually left hospital, she left the ambulance looked at the three children grinning like loons on the door step, "Fatty", "Spotty" and "Grumpy" and burst into tears.

And as a foot note - Forty plus years later when I walk past the Spam section in supermarkets I have to look away for fear of seeing even a picture of spam on the tin.

The Month Python team are bastards too!
(bugboy, Wed 1 Dec 2010, 16:31, 3 replies)

My dad
used to the do the spam fritter thing when my mum wasn't around.

Except, he'd mix sweetcorn into the batter. Don't ask me why...
(dxg, Wed 1 Dec 2010, 18:28, closed)

I share your pain..
I too have been 'looked after' whilst my mum was in hospital.

I still get shivers down my spine to this day at the thought of having to pick chicken off the bones..
(ceeej, Wed 1 Dec 2010, 18:39, closed)

One of my earliest memories ...
is of returning home from a stay in hospital with my little sister when my Dad was left for a week in charge of my infant brother.

The stench as we entered the house was unbelievable. It was shit, mixed with ... something. I found it first unfortunately. A pile of one weeks worth of shitty nappies, alive with maggots.

My Dad, great guy, but I wouldn't let him mind my cat.
(Que?, Thu 2 Dec 2010, 1:42, closed)