Before we get going let’s accept that we all love our kids and wish only the best for the little darlings. Agreed? Good. With that established, let’s move on. Isn’t having to find something, dammit, anything to feed them across school holidays of the sort that are just beginning a total and utter pain in the arse?
People who usually leave the house for work suddenly find themselves marooned at home, without adult company, standing in front of a fridge, the contents of which simply aren’t engineered for an extra daily meal. Those of us who always work from home have different issues. We usually pass lunch standing in front of the fridge, prodding leftovers to see whether they’ve developed a furry crust, eating salami straight from the packet and eyeing cautiously a half-eaten packet of cheese strings. As a result, we are justifiably baffled by how demanding our own children are. I give you breakfast. I sort dinner. And now you want more? Can’t you go out and get a job or chase a fox or something? So what if you’re only seven.
From this comes a profound question; one which goes to the very heart of middle-class parenting: what is the least you can get away with giving your kids for lunch during the school holidays before it starts looking like neglect, and the little darlings start emailing social services?
Clearly at the top of this hierarchy of nutritional mediocrity is the bowl of curly pasta – don’t even think of trying to call it fusilli; we’re deep in the nursery now – with grated drifts of plastic cheese. A big steaming bowl of complex carbohydrates has the virtue of making you feel like you cooked, which obviously is a fine and nurturing thing. But really, the effort! Come day three you’ll be properly bored of that.
Which brings us to sandwiches. Are they OK? If sandwiches are OK, how about if you just nip out and buy them? Is that so bad? It’s what millions of people do every single day. In fact, wouldn’t you be doing your little ones a favour by introducing them to one of the key experiences of the world of work: the fridge-cold, utterly uninspiring supermarket sandwich, the eating of which represents the death of all your dreams and ambitions? Isn’t it better to ease them in to this stuff early?
And what if, while patrolling those supermarket aisles for convenience items so they can get back to the killing fields of Fortnite and you can get back to arguing with the dozy git from accounts while still in your pyjamas, you happened to clock a few shelves of Pot Noodles? Obviously, they don’t feature highly on the healthy eating lists from the Department of Health. Likewise, the way they fizz when you add the water is mildly disturbing. But turning on the kettle is a kind of cooking, isn’t it? And that’s like parenting. Isn’t it? Or maybe you could just throw open the fridge door and get the children to form a huddle about your thighs, while you throw down the festering leftovers.
At which point we must recognise that the issue of which I’m making light is, for those on low incomes, no laughing matter. We know free school meals can provide a much-needed form of support; their removal during breaks is a cause of anxiety. So I’ve got a suggestion. Let’s abolish school holidays. It will rescue the kids from boredom, stop them discovering how unambitious a cook you are, and save dosh. It’s a modest proposal.
