An ode to my slow cooker

When you have a day that begins before 6am, involves wrangling two children unwillingly into their clothes and out the door in time for school, then taking the smaller of those children across London on a bus and two trains (in the pouring rain) to a theatre where you try to appear professional whilst making sure the baby doesn't trash the theatre or kill herself in the workshop, before making the trek back across London in time to collect the big one from school, bring her home and attempt to engage in the endless make believe games she insists on me playing (Oh for the day to arrive when the little one can take my place)

When you have a day like that and you walk through the door to the smell of herby chickeny goodness, then you can't help but love your slow cooker almost as much as the children (who are the reason you need it as you can no longer live on take aways as you did in those faintly remembered pre children days)

I'd almost forgotten I'd put it on first thing - it had been so many hours earlier that I'd thrown some unpromising veg in it with some barley, chicken, herbs and water. It seems like alchemy that such humble beginnings turn into this.

The theatre was Orange Tree by the way, where I'm designing the set and costumes for 'Muswell Hill'.