The Landlady takes a turn as tenant in Africa
This week, I’m still in a shack next to the roaring ocean, but this time I’m in Africa, where the 34 degree average daily temperature is a great improvement on the minus 12 degrees that the North Norfolk coast had to offer.
The shack where the Boyfriend and I are staying has had a bit of a tart-up since we were last here just before Christmas, and has a new ornately carved set of bedroom furniture. The old wardrobe, which was big enough to house my entire family, has been removed to reveal a previously undiscovered window with a picture-perfect view of the tireless Atlantic Ocean. Alas the improvements have not reached as far as the tiny kitchen, which is basic to say the least. The cooker has only one functioning gas ring which flutters in and out of life according to the mood of the squat, angry-looking gas canister at its side. The only improvement in the kitchen has been the addition of some very nice curtains, which fall exactly in line with the gas ring when lit, meaning you have to tie up the curtains before you start cooking, or you will be likely to cook more than just the food.
“The oven is another thing entirely and should bear a health warning”
The oven is another thing entirely and should bear a health warning as it is the oven version of Beachy Head and it would be quite easy to kill oneself with its assistance, even if you weren’t intending to do so. When trying to light the oven the other night, I gave up having spent about half an hour on my knees slipping in and out of consciousness. In spite of the lack of facilities, we have managed well and cooked one of the most delicious goat and sweet potato stews I have ever eaten, using only the flickering gas ring. On the downside, it took so long to cook – goat not being renowned for its tenderness – that we didn’t eat until 3.30am, having started cooking at 8pm, but at least it gave us the chance to pop out for a few drinks in the interim.
Looming tax bills and lack of money have dictated that we cook our own food whenever possible and I have in fact got a goat curry on the stove now. While waiting for it to cook – three hours and counting – I’m sitting in the pitch black on our little front porch writing this, as the electricity has just gone off. In a mad fit of enthusiasm, we invited friends round for dinner on my last night, which will require using the odious stove once more in an attempt to impress the natives with our culinary prowess. Well, if it all goes horribly wrong, at least I can stick my head in the oven.
