In the terribly unlikely event that I need reminding: remind me never, ever, ever to go to China and become a chef.

I have just attempted to cook sweet and sour chicken for one, on the grounds that if I can't get it from a Chinese restaurant ever again then it might be a good idea to learn to cook the stuff myself.

I was entirely prepared to produce something totally inedible and be forced to fall back on the portion of frozen stew I had standing by for emergencies. What I wasn't expecting was to produce something so absolutely awful and yet not actually inedible; I had assumed that at even half this level of culinary incompetence I would produce a complete write-off. To have so many things wrong with a dish without committing any of the faults that would make it unsafe or impossible to eat must take a certain level of skill in itself.

Ideally I ought to do a post-mortem and try to work out at least some of the mistakes I made for next time; but after the stressful cooking process, the exercise of willpower involved in eating it, and the sheer hard work of clearing up the unbelievable mess in the kitchen afterwards, I really don't have the energy.