I was thinking of stories to put up about my father and this appeared as a post I made about him on this day two years ago. As context, there were serious problems with the care staff that were looking after him at the time. Both of us had been feeling frustrated and put upon. And while I had spent a lot more time at his flat than normal it was not quality time because I was trying to resolve a multitude of issue between the council and the care agencies.

Since it was a Sunday I went over to his flat specifically to spend some quality time with him. I am a bit sad that I won't have these sorts of days with him anymore. Here is what happened:

Dad vs Schrödinger's Lunch

I was feeling sorry for my father. He’s had a very disruptive week, both he and I were feeling a little unsettled and out of sorts. So I thought I would cook him chicken tikka and chips. This is a staple favourite of his.

This is how the conversation went:

Me: How is the chicken?
Dad: I don’t think the chicken is cooked.
Me: I know you like things well done. So I’ve cooked it far longer than it should be.
Dad: So why is it so chewy?
Me: Because I cremated it.
Dad: Are you sure it shouldn’t be cooked for a little while longer?
Me: Yes, yes of course if you prefer charcoal to chicken. Do you want me to remove any moisture that might be left in it? I’m sure if I squeezed it hard enough in the frying pan I could turn it into a diamond.
Dad: No that’s okay I was more worried you might be poisoning us.
Me: Anything organic, living bacteria or virus that might have been on the raw food went up in flames in the culinary supernova I inflicted on that chicken for about thirty minutes longer than recommended. The only way that chicken could kill you is if you sharpen an edge of it and used it as a knife.

Perfectly Adequate

A brief pause as he continues to chew vigorously

Dad: When Mum cooked chicken it was never this chewy.
Me: That’s because she used to ignore you and just cook it properly.
Dad: So you have undercooked it.
Me: No I’ve massively overcooked it because that is what you asked for despite me knowing you don’t have the teeth or the jaws to cope. I thought it would be a fun way of getting you to understand the problems of overcooking everything.
Another pause to chew vigorously
Dad: Should the peas be this small?
Me: Remember the Brexit talk we had the other day Dad? These are EU regulation sized peas.
Dad: Then it must be the chips that are too big.
Me: Cut them in half then they will be smaller.
Dad: But then there will be too many.
Me: Do you actually want your lunch?
Dad: It’s perfectly adequate. But I’m not really hungry.
Me: That’s okay Dad you don’t have to eat it if you are not hungry.
Dad: Okay then, hurry up and finish yours so we can have some ice cream.

The Ice Cream Saga

Ten minutes later after I’ve had my lunch and got him some ice cream.

Dad: It’s a bit cold.
Me: It’s ice cream. If it were warmer it would just be cream.
Dad: There’s no chocolate with it. Some chocolate would warm it up.
Me: We’ve got chocolate buttons or I can crumble some chocolate biscuits in there for you. Which would you prefer?
Dad: I don’t know. You decide.
Me: But it is you that’s eating it.
Dad: It’s too difficult to decide you had better put both.

I return with a bowl full of chocolate buttons, crumbled biscuits and ice cream.

Dad, looking at the bowl: You’ve put too much chocolate in this.
Me: I’ll take some of it out then.
Dad: No that’s all right. I’ve not had much to eat today, just put in another scoop of ice cream and it will be fine.

Does anyone want to adopt my father? Otherwise, I’m taking him for a one way trip to the countryside.