The Emergency Chicken
The story of The Emergency Chicken and how it all began…
Some years ago, around the time that we were all waiting for the onset of blizzard conditions one winter, I was having my hair cut, chatting away with my lovely hairdresser. We were talking about the weather, how cold it was getting and wondering if the forecaster’s predictions of ice and freezing conditions causing doomsday would actually happen. We giggled at the apocryphal stories of so much snow that it would be waist deep and the shortage of milk (which would make it the most precious commodity on the planet) it would inevitably cause.
I explained that I wasn’t worried about the weather and had no need to panic buy. Whilst everyone was out there going berserk and getting ready for a whole six inches of snow to arrive, I would be ok. Roads would be impassable and we might never be able to leave the house again. England would grind to a halt. However, I wouldn’t be batting an eyelid.
Why’s that, I was asked?
Because, I gleefully explained, the secret to always being prepared is to have an emergency chicken in the freezer. If I was secure in the knowledge that I had that stashed away, I knew that we could survive anything.
On imparting what I thought was this incredible piece of wisdom, the whole salon erupted into laughter. In reality, it may have only been three of us there at the time and I had no idea how loud I had said my piece. The hairdryer was going full pelt. My recollection is that my hairdresser was actually crying. She laughed so hard that she had to sit down. I was most perturbed though; didn’t everybody have one? Why was this so funny?
I should of course add at this point that my other secret to surviving such conditions is to have lots of tea bags and chocolate digestives (if they have some caramel in them, so much the better) to eat as well as the chicken. Although not at the same time. Because that might be strange. Frankly, you should also always have wine available.
I vividly remember warming to my theme. revealed that our freezer was always full to bursting. I have always shopped as if Armageddon might arrive prematurely. Now, please do not get mistaken. I am nowhere near a ‘Prepper’. I can confirm that I don’t have a stash of guns and ammunition in the basement as those American’s who believe that the end of the world will arrive any day now. But I have never thought it odd to make sure that if we needed to, we could live out of the freezer and our food cupboard for quite a while.
You’ll be sorry, I joked. There’s nothing wrong with me; it’s you that needs to worry.
We all laughed long and hard that day about the absurdity of life. About how the food deliveries would always come, about how we could all manage for a few days without baked beans just as long as we had enough gin/wine/beer and chocolate and crisps to keep us alive.
I have spent a lot of my life trying to be ready for the unexpected to happen. I like to plan. Routine is crucial. If something comes along that is unanticipated, I want to be the person who is able to manage it with ease and an aura of self-assurance. I want to be that capable woman who easily rises to the challenge and can rustle up a meal for eight without so much as a hair out of place.
If only.
The reality for me is that the moment things go wrong, I just become a hot sweaty mess. And no amount of emergency chickens in freezer seem to change that.
Once upon a time, I was very capable. One husband and two children later, my life changed dramatically. I went from a relatively organised person who could remember most things to someone who struggles with basic communication at times. I can’t keep up with the pace of life. My head is full to bursting with the things I need to remember and the things that the three other people in my house need to remember. I have so many to do lists, that I have a to-do list to rearrange my to-do lists. Unless I now have it written down, there really is no chance. Worse, as I get older, when I go to sleep at night, my brain now seems to go through some sort of rebooting process, whereby I cannot remember anything that has happened or was said to me.
I’m going to tell you a secret; I hate the other mothers who have birthday presents organised a month in advance, who had a card and wrapping paper in the cupboard and didn’t need to dash to the supermarket ten minutes before the kid’s birthday party. I now dislike those people who tell me that they have packed for a holiday the week before they go away, who have their clothes all clean and ironed and do not just pick things out of the washing basket deciding they will sort it out when they get there. I am thoroughly envious of those who have a tidy house where the laundry isn’t all over the dining room, where every surface isn’t cluttered and where they can actually find what they are looking for.
I’m going to tell you another secret. I still use an old fashioned Filofax. It’s enormous and heavy. I write things on paper. Please don’t judge me. I am trying to embrace change. We now have an ‘Alexa’ in every room and she makes my lists for me too – the shopping list, the meal list, the school daily planner, the ‘what bill have I got to pay today’ list.
I get to Friday and practically collapse in a small heap.
I have spent my entire professional life living by the mantra that ‘preparation’ is key. Are there other people like this, or am I alone? I don’t think I am. Last week I spoke to a friend who is currently trying to cut herself into thirds. This is to make sure her three kids are where they need to be at the time they need to be there, whilst working around her husband’s appointments and trying to ensure everyone has clean clothes and is fed on time.
And so I carry on, doing my best every day. I am learning that this is all I can do. It never seems to matter how prepared I am, muddling through is sometimes all I can achieve. Somehow I do always get to the end of every week. And I still believe in having my emergency chicken. It’s the best coping mechanism I can come up with, so for the moment I am sticking with it.
