The Real Me is Thin. Arabella Weir

somehow this would reduce the level of the soup and convince Mum I’d eaten some. Mum’s rage could flare so suddenly, and you could never be sure what would spark it. We didn’t know how we were going to get out of this.

      Then it happened – sudden, blissful, unexpected salvation. Andrew summoned up his courage. ‘Mum, I think there’s something actually wrong with this—’ But before he could finish his sentence, as if by magic, projectile vomit shot out of his mouth and nose, travelling at speed right across the kitchen table. The jet was so strong, it looked as if it had come out of a fireman’s hose. No one said a word.

      As the last regurgitated lentils dropped off Andrew’s chin, Mum marched forward and picked up his spoon to taste the soup. Never one for apologies, she chose her words carefully. ‘Yes, very well, the lentils might have gone off, but it was delicious when I made it.’ Thanks to Andrew’s super-reactive stomach, unbelievably, we were off the hook.

      I’ve since grown to like lentils (only when they’re fresh) but I still can’t eat them without instantly recalling the fizz they emanate when they’re off. But I’m not sure any child genuinely likes them. I made some delicious (no, really) lentil soup the other day and even persuaded my kids to taste it. My daughter went first, before urging her younger brother to try, too, but ‘not to look at it before’. He wrinkled up his nose: ‘I’m not being rude, but I think that’s more of a grown-up’s type of thing.’

      I don’t think, for one moment, that Mum knew the lentils were off or that she was deliberately trying to poison us. Very irritatingly for her, they’d simply gone off since she’d cooked them, so, operating in the belief that she had something to give us kids, she suddenly found herself a meal ‘down’, as it were, and I can certainly relate to how bloody maddening that can be. You know you’ve got to feed your kids, find that the intended meal is sabotaged, and now have to find a substitute. An unfortunate episode such as this might be a small hiccup, hardly worthy of mention, to someone for whom cooking for their kids is no big deal; but if your default position is one of anger, resentment, and frustration at where you find yourself in life, as was Mum’s at the time, then it’s small wonder she was so pissed off. Those lentils exemplified Mum’s hatred of cooking and the insurmountable drudgery that it was for her. They also illustrate that we were not accustomed to food being prepared with love and care. Our food, such as it was, was angry.