How to make an Anglo-Basque Spanish omelette (Part 2): What now?!
First things first . . . Turn on the TV and tune in to BBC World. Nothing wrong with a bit of culture occasionally, even if said channel is boring as hell. It's important to know what's going on out there, remember.
Second things second . . . Open that bottle of Rioja and pour yourself a large glass. You deserve it. Sieve the contents into a new cork-free glass, and proceed to the next step.
If there's a bolt on the kitchen door, now is the time to use it.
Locate onion, knife and chopping board (the order is unimportant) and begin chopping away like a maniac. The smaller the pieces, the better. At the very least, you should aim for four quarter onions. Then, try chopping those quarters into quarters, and those quarters into quarters again. And so on. Think Russian dolls. No, not those Russian dolls. That's my other blog.
Resist temptation to reply, "No, I'm f***ing not! I'm listening to the f***ing BBC" every time they tell you, "You're watching the BBC" in that ever-so-smug where-would-you-ignorant-sods-be-without-us unbearable Oxbridge accent.
You might as well answer the phone while you're at it, as nobody else is going to answer it unless you do. It's usually Linda for your daughter or Andrés for your son. Either way, it's something immensely important, so scream down the hall to your son's/daughter's bedroom to tell them that the world will end unless they come to the phone immediately. Say goodbye to Linda or Andrés, ask after their parents, and tell them they must come and stay with you for six months sometime. Then run back to the kitchen just in time to put out the fire. Serves you right for heating up the oil before I told you to.
Next time: How to make an Anglo-Basque Spanish omelette (Part 3): Alright, I’ve chopped the sodding onions and aired the kitchen. Now what?!