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| This is my Father mugging people for their trifle |
This was a frequent statement made about my Daddy. He was thin, very thin. My parents' wedding photos look like Mother has just married the Invisible Man - she's posing with her bouquet in her lace dress next to an empty army uniform. But he ate like a navvy; despite that 28 inch waist exterior the man was eating for Wales.
If I went up for the weekend to the St Tropez of the North I would spend two days in the kitchen churning out snack after snack. I didn't see daylight until I left unless I was allowed out to Morrisons to stock up again.
His daily menu (when I was there) went a bit like this...
I'd go in to his bedroom with a cup of tea when he woke. "Want some breakfast Ekky?". "Oh, I'll just have a bit of toast love, my chest isn't great and I'm a bit off".
Two bits of toast done.
Then after he'd washed and dressed (sometimes pausing to carefully tong his hair - honest) he'd wander into the kitchen and say something like "I could go a bit of bacon maybe. And an egg. Those sausages look nice". Breakfast part two morphed into an epic fry-up.
Around 11: "Any biscuits or cake to go with this tea?"
Lunch had to be a knife and fork affair at the table. No sandwiches balanced on a bit of kitchen roll. So I'd be plating up pork pies, cold meats, salads and bread & butter.
Four o'clock would find me knocking up some scones or an egg custard. Once that was despatched to Ekky's armchair I could focus on dinner. He loved trying new foods and would try anything I put in front him - poncy London food like pesto, things drizzled with balsamic, spicy curries, lemon grass - he'd give it all a go.
After dinner I'm flagging but his metabolism is still going and by eight I'm making rounds of toasted cheese or ham sandwiches.
Bed time found him tucked up in bed with another cup of tea and yes, more biscuits.
Even when he was really poorly he still ate on and on. I remember Ekky being in hospital but him telephoning me from the ward while I was at Mother's flat: "Are you cooking Sunday lunch then?". So an hour later I've improvised a plate out of a cornflake packet and some tin foil and am delivering a full roast dinner to Ward 9. And then he moaned about there being no gravy.
And he was the most terrible LIAR about food. If Ekky had eaten lunch at home and then went to visit friends or family if they asked if he eaten he'd say "no" and get a second round of scoff.
When people are in hospital you see their relatives bringing bottles of squash or bits of fruit and biscuits. The Phennas arrived in a film unit catering lorry and were hauling hampers of food into the lift. And that's after he'd eaten the hospital food - he thought hospital food was marvellous, like being back at a school canteen.
His nutritionist at the hospital pissed me off. She was a fucking MOOSE. A Ginger MOOSE with a face like a slapped arse. She was such a MOOSE she had to drive with her head out of the window because her antlers didn't fit in the cab. She caught me on the ward one day as I was heading out, "We're very concerned about your Father, he's very thin." I looked at her and thought "People have been saying that since 1955, what do you want - a fucking medal? We know he's thin. He's just THIN".
Somehow we ended up in a consultation with said MOOSE who wants us to keep a food diary of everything he eats in a week. "Jesus H Christ" I thought, "We're going to have to staple a few books together". So she droned on about what to detail about lunch blah, blah, blah. "So for example Mr Phenna can you tell me what you had for lunch on Friday?". Ekky looks at me - "What did I have love?". "Hot smoked salmon fillet with wilted peashoots and a melange of spiced couscous" (or whatever poncy stuff I'd knocked up that day) I replied, "Followed by trifle*".
"Oh" the Ginger Moose replies taken aback, "He eats quite well then". Like he wasn't even in the room.
On the way out I hiss into her ear, "Look bitch, just because he's from a council estate it doesn't mean we feed him on Findus Crispy Pancakes and oven chips. Now back off".
I bet she hadn't had a shag since 1998, the ugly Ginger MOOSE.
If I went up for the weekend to the St Tropez of the North I would spend two days in the kitchen churning out snack after snack. I didn't see daylight until I left unless I was allowed out to Morrisons to stock up again.
His daily menu (when I was there) went a bit like this...
I'd go in to his bedroom with a cup of tea when he woke. "Want some breakfast Ekky?". "Oh, I'll just have a bit of toast love, my chest isn't great and I'm a bit off".
Two bits of toast done.
Then after he'd washed and dressed (sometimes pausing to carefully tong his hair - honest) he'd wander into the kitchen and say something like "I could go a bit of bacon maybe. And an egg. Those sausages look nice". Breakfast part two morphed into an epic fry-up.
Around 11: "Any biscuits or cake to go with this tea?"
Lunch had to be a knife and fork affair at the table. No sandwiches balanced on a bit of kitchen roll. So I'd be plating up pork pies, cold meats, salads and bread & butter.
Four o'clock would find me knocking up some scones or an egg custard. Once that was despatched to Ekky's armchair I could focus on dinner. He loved trying new foods and would try anything I put in front him - poncy London food like pesto, things drizzled with balsamic, spicy curries, lemon grass - he'd give it all a go.
After dinner I'm flagging but his metabolism is still going and by eight I'm making rounds of toasted cheese or ham sandwiches.
Bed time found him tucked up in bed with another cup of tea and yes, more biscuits.
Even when he was really poorly he still ate on and on. I remember Ekky being in hospital but him telephoning me from the ward while I was at Mother's flat: "Are you cooking Sunday lunch then?". So an hour later I've improvised a plate out of a cornflake packet and some tin foil and am delivering a full roast dinner to Ward 9. And then he moaned about there being no gravy.
And he was the most terrible LIAR about food. If Ekky had eaten lunch at home and then went to visit friends or family if they asked if he eaten he'd say "no" and get a second round of scoff.
When people are in hospital you see their relatives bringing bottles of squash or bits of fruit and biscuits. The Phennas arrived in a film unit catering lorry and were hauling hampers of food into the lift. And that's after he'd eaten the hospital food - he thought hospital food was marvellous, like being back at a school canteen.
His nutritionist at the hospital pissed me off. She was a fucking MOOSE. A Ginger MOOSE with a face like a slapped arse. She was such a MOOSE she had to drive with her head out of the window because her antlers didn't fit in the cab. She caught me on the ward one day as I was heading out, "We're very concerned about your Father, he's very thin." I looked at her and thought "People have been saying that since 1955, what do you want - a fucking medal? We know he's thin. He's just THIN".
Somehow we ended up in a consultation with said MOOSE who wants us to keep a food diary of everything he eats in a week. "Jesus H Christ" I thought, "We're going to have to staple a few books together". So she droned on about what to detail about lunch blah, blah, blah. "So for example Mr Phenna can you tell me what you had for lunch on Friday?". Ekky looks at me - "What did I have love?". "Hot smoked salmon fillet with wilted peashoots and a melange of spiced couscous" (or whatever poncy stuff I'd knocked up that day) I replied, "Followed by trifle*".
"Oh" the Ginger Moose replies taken aback, "He eats quite well then". Like he wasn't even in the room.
On the way out I hiss into her ear, "Look bitch, just because he's from a council estate it doesn't mean we feed him on Findus Crispy Pancakes and oven chips. Now back off".
I bet she hadn't had a shag since 1998, the ugly Ginger MOOSE.
*Please see other trifle stories on this blog to appreciate the significance.
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