Make war on the deficit

I really don't want to pay any more taxes. I'm way over my limit, tax wise, as it is. I pay tax in every which way you can think of, and it hurts. I don't want any more pain, thanks. And as for cuts in services - we have great services in this country. I know people complain, it's a national hobby and all that; but the service we have been getting from every institution lately has been nothing short of fabulous. Sadly, even the tax department has become more efficient. And helpful.

So I'm very depressed about the election. No matter who wins - and let's face it, it's not going to be the outcome I'd like - there are going to be tax increases and service cuts. Life is going to be harder, people are going to be angrier and the media is going to report such doom and gloom that we will all flinch before we listen to the news or pick up a newspaper. Who wants that scenario? Seriously?

I had a thought. How about, instead of being forced to pay more taxes for less, we band together and voluntarily wage war on the budget deficit? We could have a big campaign, collect money in the streets, have a telethon, get the kids involved. Rich people could send their political party donations to the campaign; poor people could dig their 20 pences out of the furniture; middle classes could join sponsored events, like a sponsored 'no whingeing' day/fortnight/month/year. Rock stars could hold concerts, Simon Cowell could make a record, and all over the country the contents of swear boxes could be poured into a deficit-reduction mountain.

Councils could have deficit-reduction meetings catered for by deficit-reduction charity organisers. Towns and villages could compete for the title of 'Best Deficit Reduction Contributor 2010'. Secret millionaires could publicly declare their compassion by donating money to the deficit-reduction fund on television; well-known millionaires and billionaires could change their domiciles back to the UK and become Lords, receive gongs and fancy titles and have tea with the Queen. The Queen could do her part too, come to think of it, and Prince Charles could grant funds to young people's deficit-reduction enterprises.

Even children could make a difference. They could have non-school uniform days where they dress up in their best designer clothing in order to donate a pound to the kill-the-deficit fund; they could even hold sponsored be-nice-to-a-teacher days, which would have the added bonus of reducing dumbbell incidents. And teeny tots could could hold workshops for adults in which they explain the concept of 'no, you can't have that until you've earned the money'.

I think we could do it. Together, we can. Let's leave things as they are - no Government department name changes and the expensive reordering of stationery they entail, no increase in VAT which just leads to poorer farmers and manufacturers, no cuts in health care, education or family support, no job losses, salary cuts and the strikes and unrest they bring, and above all, no media doom to ruin the first few minutes of everyone's day. Isn't that worth fighting for?

What's worse - being out of toilet paper or food?

I am writing this blog to record some of the wackier recipes I come up with to feed my increasingly faddy family. What better day to start than the one on which we seem to have run out of not only food, but - horrors! - toilet paper, too. I wonder which is worst?

I should stress that there is no connection between the over-use of double-ply-extra-soft-recycled in this chaotic home, and the meals I cook. My cooking is almost always eaten with pleasure, and if there is too much call for the other stuff, it's probably because they eat too darn much of it.

The cast of our small family drama includes:

• one man - yes, poor thing - who can't stomach pine nuts or large helpings of pizza, turns his nose up at fish and asparagus, but loves almost everything else (especially curry and gummi bears)
• one eldest daughter, who, at fifteen, loves her junk food, although the more junk she eats, the thinner she gets; hates fish and mushrooms, loves butternut squash and mashed potato with lashings of ketchup, refuses fatty meat and picks out her peas, but has double helpings of parsnips and broccoli; lives off tea and chocolate when allowed to
• one youngest daughter who decided she was a vegetarian some years ago and has stuck to it religiously - won't eat anything that was once breathing, or vegetables (particularly not mushrooms); lives off egg fried rice with sea weed, sesame seeds and soy sauce and, when she is allowed it, icing sugar on almost everything else
• one grandma, who will eat tiny portions of absolutely anything except muesli, easy on the chilli and the alcohol
• myself - a working mum who will eat anything at all, (although only tolerates blood pudding under extreme social duress), as long as someone else cooks it

There were three for tea this evening, and we only had pasta. No cheese, no cream, no tomatoes, absolutely nothing to make a sauce with, and no meal that all three of us would eat. So this is what we had:

• eldest daughter - pasta with baked beans on top and a once frozen corn on the cob which I really didn't fancy
• youngest daughter - pasta with two vegetarian hot dog sausages, olive oil and a once frozen corn on the cob
• me - pasta with a sauce made from frozen peas and a teaspoon of mint sauce with pan-fried salmon and a dollop of mayonnaise; it was gorgeous! Absolutely scrummy.

We were all happy, there was minimal washing up due to my clever pot-saving cooking methods and even the dog was pleased with half a veggie hot dog. It wasn't until after we had finished the meal that I realised my mistake. What goes in must come out, and there we were with one diminishing pack of tissues between us! What's worse - no toilet paper or no food to speak of? Definitely the soft white tissue on a roll, mate.