My inner domestic goddess is just for Christmas
In my twenties, I returned from a girly holiday to find a cheeky card from my then partner. ‘Welcome home’, it read. ‘Sure missed your cooking, ha ha!’ The truth is, the only hot thing I ate at home was cheese on toast. It was only much later, with a different partner and as a mother of three, that I found myself in the shocking position of being expected – OK, required, as I was the
