Cheryl's been bending me ear'ole about a new kitchen. Dunno why, this looks good enough for me. But her mate Kath's just got a new one, all hoods and marble worktops and spongers, whatever they are.
I've always reckoned that if you can fry up a few fish fingers and chips without setting fire to your gulliver then your kitchens okay. All this flash stuff like balsamic vinegar and salt and peppers for poofs. Just shovel it down and get to the pub, you'll be chucking it up anyway an hour or two later.
Women have it too easy. Anyway, we're off to Ikea tomorrow to look at some, or so she reckons.
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