A Nice Saturday Morning.

A lazy day at home.

Isn't it funny how we ( or maybe just me ) tend to feel that we'll run out of food over the weekend or more specifically, run out of snacks. A lazy Saturday reading or watching romantic movies does require that certain something. Chocolates are too normal and cakes too laboursome, but a packet of crisps wouldn't go amiss.

Nothing even remotely like it hiding anywhere in the cupboards and yes, I mean hiding as over time I've learnt to hide the culinary contrabands in the strangest of places. Mostly Bob doesn't find them ( they are in hiding because of him ) and often I forget as well. Nothing worse than finding a long lost stale packet of crisps.

So off I went to the shop in Deutsch Schützen for the weekend essentials and I should pat myself on the back for having forsaken the slightly bigger supermarket further out. Much easier to say no to perhaps ten junk food options beckoning from a shelf as to deny basket space to any one of the hundred temptations residing in supermarkets.

Oh it was a treat at the local shop. Saturday has its own rhythm and order. Shopping tends to be of less importance and whilst I was waiting in the bread queue I was asked whether Bob and I hail from the same country as that Mumgumbo somebody or other that has been mentioned in the news. No, that's one over from where we lived.

On the way driving into the village I happened to spy with my little eye the one morsel of food that my husband would flip out over. Many a times I've steered him away from it when we drove past

" Oh, look over there, a bird. "

but today, I thought I might spoil him with my culinary ideas.

One Saturday a month, a little caravan is parked next to the Lagerhaus and draws many a client. The Grilled Chicken Truck was advertising its wares a street back already. They must have a fan to waft the aromas about. Grilled chicken, yum. After leaving the shop, I headed straight for chicken central and bought a whole chicken, read to eat...

I didn't even have to show the packet to Bob as I got home because it pied pipered him into the kitchen the minute I stepped through our front door. Mausi too caught a whiff and was excitingly dashing figures of eight on the kitchen floor. The chicken was a hit, and will have to be repeated sometime soon.

Biggi