I remember the day. It was a day when my manly pride suffered a blow from a six year old.

“There’s ice in my fish.”

That was not what I wanted to hear from my daughter.

Examining the offending meal I had to admit it did look like ice on the cod. Sampling mine I admitted defeat.

“Sorry, Rachel, I had better read the instructions again.”


What I failed to observe on Birds Eye Cod in Buttered Sauce was that the 30 minutes cooking in boiling water assumed the fish was defrosted. It was a family trait to leap without looking, to press ahead blindly paying no regard to instructions. Not a good plan if you are parachuting or serving meals to a six year old gastronome.


Okay, so I am not the best cook in the world. Probably not the best cook in our street. On that day it appeared I was not even to compare to a six-year olds’ ability to provide a meal. On a scale of 1 to 10 I think I got a 1.

My wife, Margaret, was in London at GOSH caring for our middle child. Cooking, cleaning, doing the washing, were my responsibilities. My good turn had gone badly wrong. Initially I was planning to take my daughter and two year old son to McDonalds or Pizza Hut but I was persuaded by some cookery programme that I could cope. Some hope! I was deflated like a punctured tyre.

Good turns are fine if you have read the rule-book or recipe. Next time I did instant mash potatoes with fish, I ensured the meal was cooked.

“Dad I think you have burnt it!”

Bah!