I don't do pot

I was going to start with an apology for not having posted anything since Saturday, but then realised it's probably not the case that thousands of secret followers have been waiting and pining and growing more desperate with each passing day of my silence. (If there are I implore you to SHOW YOURSELVES NOW!)

Anyway, I haven't posted since Saturday because there has been a distinct lack of eventful, uhh, events, to write about since then. I know what you're thinking - that hasn't stopped me in the past (see all previous posts) - but this week I'm really scraping the barrel.

Keep reading if you don't believe me.

There is a pot sitting on our bench at the moment (now do you see? I'm actually blogging about dishes), which contains something like Maggi instant carbonara with chick peas and frozen spinach thrown in for kicks. Nothing unusual about that - it's the kind of meal that regularly appears in our flat full of youthful vegetarians - the remarkable thing is that it was made two weeks ago.

I'm going to post a picture of the pot's contents now, so unless you want chunks of vomit nestled in your keyboard forevermore then I suggest you finish any food you may be eating.

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Ready?

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Seriously, make sure you've completely finished swallowing.

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Voila!

As you can see, two weeks in open air has not been kind to this concoction. It was never a good dish to start with, but we can all agree that it now looks fucking disgusting. So disgusting that everyone in the flat is refusing to clean it or even acknowledge its presence.

Sure, we do the rest of the dishes. The mugs, the forks, the plates... Absolutely everything except the pot. We lift the pot up to wipe the bench underneath, and we move it around if we need the space. We put a tick next to our name on the dishes chart, and then we leave the kitchen. The pot remains, and continues to play host to a sophisticated and psychedelic germ utopia.

I'm not proud of this child-like behavior (it reminds me of when I was a kid and mum had a rule that whoever saw our cat's shit/vomit/dead bird first had to clean it up, meaning me and my sister would go hours pretending to be oblivious to whatever was soiling the living room floor) but god dammit, I did not make that pasta and I will not back down.

To the person who did make the pasta (and I'm not so much of an asshole that Im going to name names) please don't be offended if you happen to read this.

Just clean the damn pot.