Chicken Tarragon

I had a number of mishaps this morning which all emanated from me staying in bed too long reading the book that Natasha's family got me for Christmas called 'Travel's with Charley' by John Steinbeck. I rushed to get up and got to Natasha half an hour late.

After reestablishing that we still love one another and declaring our 'I've missed you vows' how was your travels etc etc, we attempted to drive into Ilfracombe in order to go for a long morning walk. Upon arrival, we discovered that every shop was shut and the rain started to pore which only made us more reluctant to go out into the cold.

Later in the day we decided to cook together and for my dad, who primarily survives on microwave curry's. Ironic that he refuses to accept anything cultural, yet his core diet consists of Tika Masala. It's been so deeply ingrained that I think he'd be sceptical if I tried to tell him it wasn't British.

We made Chicken Tarragon, which is a favourite of mine. The sauce is made by mixing double cream, with lemon juice and Tarragon spice. It was delicious and my dad was grateful. He even managed to tell us a two minute story, amid glances to his TV show that he couldn't possibly turn off. About a time when he and my mother had cooked many years ago for some of their friends. Apparently they overcooked the dinner and ended up getting a take out. My dad has a near photographic memory for stories that end in disaster, yet I've never once heard him talk about a time when things went awesome. 

After dinner I put some more work into the amends I need to do on the smalls pitch. I was really struggling earlier in the day to have an idea, so I lay on my bed and dozed before jumping to my feat as the bones of a script came to me based on the scene from The Big Short. 

Natasha is staying with me tonight. She's still adjusting to UK time having been in America. So we're going to find a film on Netflix. I'll be amazed if we're still awake in an hours time.