Sometimes I impress even myself.

I used to laugh at stories of people burning pasta. However, old age is clearly coming on, or else I am just soooooo laid back that I make Zaphod Beeblebrox look like a bow-string. Burnt pasta, or, more often, burnt rice, is a taste I am quickly aquiring. Yesterday I carefully scooped rice out of melted boil-in bags, and this morning began scraping the plastic off the pot. Last week I had to soak the frying pan for two days to remove the black pudding I had left cooking on it and forgotten about.

Today, however, I have managed something quite new, and I think worthy of comment.

I have burnt boiled eggs.