Another weekend away

No Simon cooking again: a weekend away at my parents instead; weight-wise, my mother's desire to feed me properly is fighting determinedly against my father's desire to get me fitter. Arrived to find Mum with a cookbook out: she said it was one of the first recipes she'd used. I know she had cookbooks as I grew up, and I think we may have cooked from cake recipes together, but I can't remember her using books; she just knew what to cook, knew how to cook it and just did it. I guess that's all part of the learning-from-your-mother cookery that seems to have died over here, and is about to die in France too.

Saturday lunchtime was mushroom soup and smoked salmon with salad; evening was goulash, made from the slowcooker recipe book. I enjoyed it, I agreed with my father that it was a bit sweet (my parents don't do spicy anymore), but it was good nonetheless. Meanwhile, my father took me to the club to work on his boat (6-berth yacht), and spent a happy time removing the middle line of paint from round the hull (and accidentally dying myself smurf blue in the process). Tammie (real name Tamahine: mother thinks this is polynesian for beautiful girl, which it is, but the boat was built at the same time as a famous naughty movie of the same name) looks like she's had a long season moored on the river, complete with scratches from a nearby bush, but she's a lovely girl and will scrub up well one she's painted. Oh, and mum and I had 1.5 bottles of wine (piat d'or, or "pee on the floor" as d describes it) and a lovely long chat about life, love etc.

I declined the swimming-with-dad challenge before saturday dinner and went for the run-in-the-morning option. Dad is very good at working out how much an unfit lump like me will take: on fitter days, he's been known to run me repeatedly up a big hill to broaden my training, but today we went for a 'flattish' run out on the heath. Which of course meant hills and more mud than the average assault course. Dad fell into a stream we were jumping over, and I checked the depth of the black bog across the path for him: it's up to my knees apparently, which he found as amusing as I found his impromptu dip. Then down to the boat to paint the wood we'd rubbed down on Saturday, and a row back up the river against the tide for some more light exercise.

Sunday breakfast was fried complete with small sausages; lunch was more salmon followed by roast beef with all the trimmings. Mum overdid the yorkshire puddings, but they were lovely and crisp and kept their shape even when filled with gravy. Then a sleep upstairs (I always sleep well at my parents; this time it had something to do with the lunchtime champage) and a quick session chopping and moving logs (albeit only a few logs) outside with dad before crumpets for tea. I think I may sleep well tonight as well: I'll certainly not need supper, especially since Mum wouldn't let me travel without an emergency banana. Back to Simon and the diet tomorrow, I think... and to keep up the running as well (although maybe without the thick black mud this time).