DH always used to cook a lovely Saturday night dinner for us, and I was lucky enough to get breakfast in bed most Sundays (once the DC had grown up and left home and DH had retired). It was only when this started to taper off that I realised how poorly he was, and sadly he is no longer here to do it. But, hey, I have so many happy memories and just rejoice in them . Happy days.
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My family are always reminding me I can't cook; didn't have to; my dear Vera was an expert. Both sons come home to cook after slogging all day at work; their Aussie wives don't seem to do much. What's the world coming to? 
