I will learn Something New. I will.

There’s a somewhat surreal quality about the first week of September.  In the last few days of August the house is full of laughter, noise and scrambling feet, as children make the most of the last few precious days off school.  And then suddenly, after one manic morning of uniforms, brushing hair and packing lunches, the house is silent and empty.  I always feel a bit lost the first day of term; after six weeks of lazy mornings, days out, holidays, suntan lotion and getting sand out of places sand really shouldn’t be, I am left standing in the kitchen with a cup of coffee, wondering what to do with the endless childless days ahead.  Of course there’s the ubiquitous laundry pile that never seems to get any smaller, and the house always needs tidying and dusting, but after all the mayhem and fun of the summer, termtime seems so drab and monotonous.

This year I am determined to do something different, something I have always wanted to do but never seem to have had the time.  I have enrolled in a local Indian cookery course!  The lovely tutor, Saira, assures me that even the most amateur cook will be able to produce delicious, beautiful Indian meals.  I would settle for ‘edible’, as my most notorious ‘kitchen experiment’ was even rejected by the birds and wildlife in our rural garden, and had to be removed by my husband.  With a spade.  So, come September, I will be waving my daughter off to school, and embarking on an adventure of my own - hopefully to emerge, six months later, with a newfound skill in the kitchen and a repertoire of fantastic Indian recipes that will be the envy of all my friends. 

I can’t wait for the first time that my husband suggests take-away for Saturday tea.  I will leap into action, flying around Tesco’s and filling my trolley with nutritious, healthy chicken, vegetables and spices, and then I will disappear into the kitchen and two hours later - Voila!  A fabulous home-cooked Indian meal!  My family will gather round with gasps of admiration and eagerly devour the feast… er, no, that’s not right.  Who am I kidding.  My husband won’t care if the food comes from my own fair hands or the High Street Tandoori, and my daughter will wrinkle her nose and request fish fingers and beans. 

But I don’t care.  I will have learned something NEW, just for me, and I will be proud of it!