Introduction

Allow me to introduce myself:

My name is Nathan, I am thirty years old. I am married to the wonderful Samantha, and when it boils down to it – I’m a miserable sod!

I shouldn’t be. There is no explanation for it.

I’m in a good job. I’m reasonably paid. I don’t have any kids and so have a good chunk of my own free time, yet I feel – miserable.

It started about six months ago and came from out of no-where, but if I’m being honest – it didn’t surprise me.

I’ve always been the sort of person who doesn’t like routine. I like challenges and if the day to day grind doesn’t throw up a challenge, then I feel as if I’m stagnating.

Hence the reason for the blog.

I’m going to set myself a challenge. A challenge of epic proportions. I have decided to cook myself (and the wife) a different meal, every day for three months.

Not that epic in it’s entirety  I know, but challenging none the less. Especially when there are limited hours mixed between work, copious amounts of FIFA game time and the few hours sleep I manage to acquire.

In truth, I was inspired to write a blog by my cousin +Rachael Lattanzi  , who has fascinated me with her attempt at drawing in the masses and  the keeping record of her exploits of wearing make up for a year. Surprisingly, not as easy as it sounds – on both counts!

And maybe, a little part of me wants to aspire to a childhood goal – call it what you will – of becoming a writer of comedy/fiction/column inches.

Before I begin, I feel I must let you know a little more about the real me;

I was born in the 1980’s in Derby to a couple of hard working parents who go by the names of “Vanessa” and “Nigel”. I affectionately call them “Mum” and “Dad!”

Times were tough for many people but we managed. We weren’t poor but we weren’t living the high life, whatever that is.

If we were labelling ourselves, I’d plump for Upper Lower Middle Class.

In time I was joined by two brothers and later a foster brother, so my upbringing could never and should never be described as lonely.

Meals at home were comforting– home made proper English grub that filled you to your boots!

With Dad working all hours under the sun, the task of satisfying three boys often fell largely on my Mum, who I have to say (in between multiple part time jobs) did a wonderful job.

We’re talking mid-week roasts, hotpots, soups, stews, pies (both open and closed) and always a pudding! 

Our appetites were insatiable and looking back, my parents were – and still are – amazing.

Not once did Mum cave in to the atrocities of Findus Crispy Pancakes, McCains Micro Chips or Angel Delight – much to the frustration of three whining kids.

I’d never had a ready-meal until about the age of fifteen, I went to a friends house and his Mum served up a microwaveable lasagne. Needless to say, we don’t talk anymore.....