My other half and I make a great team although technically he works for me. I always tell people that I make the decisions, and he carries stuff, which is rather unfair of me as the tasks are evenly split. He does, occasionally, point out that I don’t pay him, other than to buy him a bottle of whisky every so often as he is fond of a little tipple. For Christmas I bought him a pricey bottle of single malt for special occasions, plus his more usual brand for everyday. Now I don’t really understand the passion which a man can have over bottles of whisky, but I have to humour him.
After a busy day out truffling for treasures, we called at the supermarche on the way home. A large mound of oranges on promotion caught my eye and so I decided to make some marmalade. Although I consider myself a domestic goddess and have made many jams and chutneys over the years, marmalade is something new. Whilst I was waiting for the thin strips of peel to cook (which takes ages) I flicked through a cookbook and found I could add flavours. Out came the whisky and I had just poured a little into the pan when an ear splitting scream came my way, as I was using the wrong bottle. It appears that wasting top quality whisky in marmalade is a sulking matter, appeased only by the promise of another bottle later in the year.