My life as a domestic goddess

I COULD not have hoped for an unannounced visitor to come at a better time.
For despite my slovenly attire of tracksuit bottoms, hooded Spiderman sweatshirt and 'gym hair', I was in full domestic goddess mode.
I may not have looked as glamorous as Nigella, but my kitchen possibly smelled as good as hers.
"I just have a few things on the go," I said, secretly grinning.
Sitting down at the breakfast bar, she quizzed me about the multiple pots bubbling away on the ceramic hob.
"That one's fruity tomato chutney," I said, giving my compote a gentle stir.
"And this one," I said, lifting the lid on my Le Creuset casserole dish and releasing a waft of pungent steam, "Is a spicy meatball curry."
She said it smelled good. I returned to the coffee and walnut cupcakes I was whizzing up and she drank tea.
I hope she noticed that there were freshly filled pots of strawberry jam on the side too... and that she thought this was how I always filled my spare time. If only I'd had the icecream maker on the go too!
Had it been any other day of the week she may have caught me mid-dilapitation, clipping my toenails, or any of the other scintillating activities I partake in during the hours before the boy gets home.
I cooked, we chatted. An hour later she gathered her things saying, "Well, this has been like watching a cookery programme."
Delighted, I said, "Call round any time." Although next time, with some prior warning, I'd make sure the bonce was coiffed and that my fingernails matched my mixing bowls!