April 4

About four years ago, I gave my family food poisoning by not boiling some butterbeans enough before making them into burgers. We laugh about it now and joke about The Great Butterbean Murderer and The Case of the Poisonous Butterbeans or Death by Butterbeans.  However, it was not at all nice at the time and we were all violently ill.  As a result, I have been very hesitant to use any beans that don't come in a tin.  Recently, when thinking of how to survive if we weren't able to go to the shops, I bought some nyimo beans and today I decide to give them a go.  I have soaked them overnight and changed the water three times and now I put them on to boil.

I am doing really well with my writing when I make the huge mistake of stopping.  I have found this often when I write, although I have failed to learn a lesson from it.  I get into this lovely comfortable state when everything is going well and ideas are just flowing and then I make the terrible mistake of deciding to have a cup of tea.  This time, when I come back, John is using the laptop and, even though I hover about like a mosquito on a mission, he ignores me completely. 

I decide to use the time to look up the names of roses.  My main character is a gardener who loves tending a rose garden.  The difficulty that I have is that I need to mention the names of roses, but, because the story is set in the 1930s, I have to use names that were around then.  This may sound very picky but, believe me, there will always be that Know It All who writes and says: 'Dear Ms Rheam, I'll have you know that hybrid roses were only introduced in Rhodesia in late 1952, fifteen years after the time in which your novel is set.'

It takes two hours to get the laptop back by which time it is necessary to start on the nyimo bean supper.  I decide I am going to make burgers out of them, but the mixture turns very soggy and they look more like grey omelettes.  I throw in flour and give one to John to try and he suggests they 'need something' so I throw in an apple and the mixture turns soggy again so I throw in more flour and so the process continues.  Supper seems to take an inordinate amount of time to make and I begin to wish we were all raging carnivores - a piece of meat is SO much easier to cook.

Everyone tries the burgers rather hesitantly as though they are going to suddenly choke and writhe around on the floor.  By 9pm, we are all still alive though and I have got my laptop back.  Just in time to go to bed.