five minutes.’
‘You’re right,’ agreed Nanny Piggins. ‘We’re not going to.’
‘You’re going to let the old people starve?’ asked Michael.
‘Of course not,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘I’m going to get them in here and make them do the cooking.’
‘Can you do that?’ asked Derrick.
‘Forcing people to cook is the greatest gift you can give them,’ said Nanny Piggins.
‘I thought you said cake was the greatest gift you can give,’ said Derrick.
‘Yes, which is why forcing someone to make cake is such a kindness,’ explained Nanny Piggins.
Just then they heard the closing theme music to The Bold and the Spiteful from the next room, then the sound of the old people starting to yell at Boris again.
‘All right,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘Get them in here and get their ingredients ready.’
It soon became apparent that Nanny Piggins’ idea of setting the old people to work in the kitchen was even more brilliant than she could have imagined. Because the old people were so old they had all learnt to cook back in the days before anti-butter propaganda, when a woman could tip an entire litre of cream into a sauce without having to do nine hours of Pilates afterwards.
And it was not all cake. They soon discovered that Mr Lessandro had been secretly growing tomatoes on the fire escape. So after they had all had several helpings of dessert, he whipped up a delicious pasta dish with nothing more than tomatoes, basil, lemon juice and an entire bucket of cream.
Then Mrs Broomfield, who was normally so forgetful she could never recall her own cat’s name, suddenly remembered a delicious recipe for jammy dodgers she had been taught as a girl. So they spent the rest of the afternoon happily working away in the kitchen, fine-tuning her shortbread and jam recipe.
Finally, as the sun began to set, Mrs Clemenceau mentioned that she had been a pastry chef during the war, so she was put in charge of organising dinner. And they ate a three-course meal of cheese soufflé for entree, chocolate soufflé for dessert and chocolate soufflé with extra chocolate for second dessert.
‘That was the most delicious meal I have ever tasted,’ announced Nanny Piggins as she wiped the last smear of chocolate soufflé from her snout.
‘What about the chocolate meringue you made for dinner last night?’ asked Michael.
‘Mmm yes, that was good too,’ agreed Nanny Piggins. ‘But don’t distract me, I’m having another brilliant idea. You old people should open a restaurant.’
‘But we can’t do that!’ protested Mr Lessandro. ‘We’re old.’
‘But there are 50 of you,’ said Nanny Piggins, ‘so you can share the work and take lots of naps.’
Just then the back door burst open and a weedy 29-year-old in a suit walked in.
‘What’s going on here?’ he demanded.
The old people groaned.
‘I knew he’d turn up and spoil our fun,’ said Mrs Hastings. ‘He’s the 29-year-old investment banker who’s in charge.’
‘I’ve had complaints that staff have been assaulted with a cooking ladle,’ complained the 29-year-old, ‘and that old people have been seen climbing over the neighbourhood fences, stealing fruit.’
‘We had to make jam somehow,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘You’re the one who wouldn’t let the old people have a fruit and vegetable garden.’
‘We have to maintain the look of the exterior of the building,’ protested the 29-year-old, ‘or the neighbours complain.’
‘We’ve solved that problem. There won’t be any more complaints,’ Nanny Piggins assured him. ‘We’ve been blasting the neighbours in the face with a hosepipe if they are rude enough to poke their noses over the fence.’
‘Have you people been taking your medication?’ demanded the 29-year-old, speaking to the old people as though they were three-year-olds.
‘I’ve been medicating them myself,’ announced Nanny Piggins, ‘with proper food containing the five essential food groups – chocolate,
‘You’re right,’ agreed Nanny Piggins. ‘We’re not going to.’
‘You’re going to let the old people starve?’ asked Michael.
‘Of course not,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘I’m going to get them in here and make them do the cooking.’
‘Can you do that?’ asked Derrick.
‘Forcing people to cook is the greatest gift you can give them,’ said Nanny Piggins.
‘I thought you said cake was the greatest gift you can give,’ said Derrick.
‘Yes, which is why forcing someone to make cake is such a kindness,’ explained Nanny Piggins.
Just then they heard the closing theme music to The Bold and the Spiteful from the next room, then the sound of the old people starting to yell at Boris again.
‘All right,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘Get them in here and get their ingredients ready.’
It soon became apparent that Nanny Piggins’ idea of setting the old people to work in the kitchen was even more brilliant than she could have imagined. Because the old people were so old they had all learnt to cook back in the days before anti-butter propaganda, when a woman could tip an entire litre of cream into a sauce without having to do nine hours of Pilates afterwards.
And it was not all cake. They soon discovered that Mr Lessandro had been secretly growing tomatoes on the fire escape. So after they had all had several helpings of dessert, he whipped up a delicious pasta dish with nothing more than tomatoes, basil, lemon juice and an entire bucket of cream.
Then Mrs Broomfield, who was normally so forgetful she could never recall her own cat’s name, suddenly remembered a delicious recipe for jammy dodgers she had been taught as a girl. So they spent the rest of the afternoon happily working away in the kitchen, fine-tuning her shortbread and jam recipe.
Finally, as the sun began to set, Mrs Clemenceau mentioned that she had been a pastry chef during the war, so she was put in charge of organising dinner. And they ate a three-course meal of cheese soufflé for entree, chocolate soufflé for dessert and chocolate soufflé with extra chocolate for second dessert.
‘That was the most delicious meal I have ever tasted,’ announced Nanny Piggins as she wiped the last smear of chocolate soufflé from her snout.
‘What about the chocolate meringue you made for dinner last night?’ asked Michael.
‘Mmm yes, that was good too,’ agreed Nanny Piggins. ‘But don’t distract me, I’m having another brilliant idea. You old people should open a restaurant.’
‘But we can’t do that!’ protested Mr Lessandro. ‘We’re old.’
‘But there are 50 of you,’ said Nanny Piggins, ‘so you can share the work and take lots of naps.’
Just then the back door burst open and a weedy 29-year-old in a suit walked in.
‘What’s going on here?’ he demanded.
The old people groaned.
‘I knew he’d turn up and spoil our fun,’ said Mrs Hastings. ‘He’s the 29-year-old investment banker who’s in charge.’
‘I’ve had complaints that staff have been assaulted with a cooking ladle,’ complained the 29-year-old, ‘and that old people have been seen climbing over the neighbourhood fences, stealing fruit.’
‘We had to make jam somehow,’ said Nanny Piggins. ‘You’re the one who wouldn’t let the old people have a fruit and vegetable garden.’
‘We have to maintain the look of the exterior of the building,’ protested the 29-year-old, ‘or the neighbours complain.’
‘We’ve solved that problem. There won’t be any more complaints,’ Nanny Piggins assured him. ‘We’ve been blasting the neighbours in the face with a hosepipe if they are rude enough to poke their noses over the fence.’
‘Have you people been taking your medication?’ demanded the 29-year-old, speaking to the old people as though they were three-year-olds.
‘I’ve been medicating them myself,’ announced Nanny Piggins, ‘with proper food containing the five essential food groups – chocolate,
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