The dilemma with a cook book is how to keep it open, usually they’re as big as a telephone book, thick and heavy. You butterfly through the leaves to page 342 and there in Panavision colour is the end result you’re aiming for. Even just the look of it begins a Niagra falls on your tongue and transatlantic balloon flights of hope and enjoyment. So back to the dilemma, the best thing to do is pegs, yes, just pop into the back yard and pinch them off the line, squeeze and cuddle them into the kitchen, and let them kiss together a few pages either side of your desired outcome and it’ll sit just fine – of course there’s no guarantees the book will not become infected with a plague of flour, or a dose of sauce or a sniffle of curry if you leave it on the bench you’re working at – separation is the key.

So now you’re set – looking at the Vesuvius of colour stretched across the page, there seems to be outcroppings of rocks and terrain of various sizes in this super sized picture. The book dictates you should set the oven temp at 220 degrees, so you fiddle with the dials and curse the silly electric stove which requires a bank lock combination to activate the oven. You reach about 230 degrees yourself getting it going, but you do and then calm down and find that Jamie Oliver knife. Your vegetables look like pale English tourists on the Costa del Sol compared to the radiant hues emanating from the cook book, you really feel the hope begin to go down the plug hole as you make your way through soggy carrots, blanched parsnip and mushy Courgette, they all leap into the swimming pool of the casserole dish like lemmings…..