Gas.

I don’t know about your house, but in my house, the little blue flame means one thing and one thing only.

And not what you imagine it to be.

In most houses, this means that it’s almost time for dinner or for breakfast or for whatever wonderfully nutritious meal that Mammy or Daddy is Nigellaing in the kitchen.

In MY house, it means the beginning of 25 minutes of “TORTURE”.

It’s like the little blue flame ignites the realisation that they are ABSOLUTELY STARVING and must eat EVERYTHING in the house, right NOW MAMMY.

It means the beginning of the fridge being opened every 30 seconds, declarations of “What can I eat?” and “I’m staaaaaarving Mammy!”

It means the cries of the wobbler as if she hasn’t been fed for 3 weeks.  The painful hollers of the pair of them as they scream hunger and neglect and cry continuously until I finally put whatever I am cooking in front of them… for them to obviously declare that they “Don’t wike it!” or that they’re “not hungwy!”

No shit sherlock.  You’ve just spent 25 minutes eating fecking biscuits and croissants and yoghurts and EVERYHING in the fecking fridge while I cooked.

I’m not sure which is the biggest waste; the gas or the energy I use cooking for them.