She leans against the fridge and the weekly menu plan which is blank. The dictates of the organic weekly vegetable box rules the roost for everyone except junior.

“Soooooo what are we having for supper?”
“I'm not sure.”
“Er….what are you cooking then?”
“Bacon.”
“Bacon it poison! I am be having brown rice and chocolate pudding!”
“We're having bacon!” she beams.
“Not necessarily it's just that today is the sell by date.”
“What?”
“Well if I cook it now it will keep for another few days without going off.”
“What's in the other pan?”
“Greens, or it will be greens when the oil's hot.”
“Green what?”
“Green is be poison! I am be having brown rice and chocolate pudding!”
“Er…..either Curly Kale or spinach.”
“Which?”
“Whichever bunch is less yellow.”
“Yellow?”
“Which has the floppier stalks?”
“Floppy?”
“Hmm, the Kale wins by a whisker.”
“We're having curly kale and bacon?”
“Probably not. Kale and something.”
“What's the something?”
“I haven't figured that out yet.”
“How can you be cooking yet not know what we're going to eat?”
“Well, sometimes it's like that. I'm waiting for inspiration.”

Her father walks in to drape himself on the kitchen counter, but that's jet lag for you.

“Is there any inspiration in the fridge?” she queries in a tentative tone.
“I hope so. Have a peek and give me a hint.”
“What about this cheese? Ooo no it's all yucky.”
“Cheese is for mouses!”
My! His categorization skills are coming on a treat, or is that prejudices?
“We can scrape that off.”
“Eeow no.”

Her father remains silent as his eye lids droop.

“What's this?”
“Hmm looks like……they used to be…..mushrooms.”
“What are they now?”
“Petrified, I mean dried. Chuck em over.”
“Must I?”
“It'll be fine. You're a great help.”
Her father crumples a little further.
“What else dear?”
“Well there's this box of……something or other.”
“Ah, left over rice, perfect.”
“Rice is be mine!”
“So? What's it gonna be?”
“I'm still debating. What else is there in the fridge?”
“But you've got a pot on every burner now. Surely you must be cookin something?”

An unwelcome murmur comes forth from the unfortunate time traveler, “I'll never moan about airline food again.”
“Yes, there's nothing like fresh organic produce to stimulate creativity!”
“Sounds like a dose of swamp fever to me.”

I can see into the future. It'll be a different kind of fever, of the cabin variety and I'll throw away the key.