The competition between the My Kitchen Rules contestants was nearing its weekly zenith.
Who would win the sudden-death cook off? Could Angela and Melina’s roast duck with wild rice and honey carrots beat out Jake and Elle’s classic vitello tonnato, or would the Melbourne housewives big, big hair get in the way?
There could be no missing this even on a getaway to the beach.
The drama was on full boil when a young Englishman entered the caravan park entertainment room.
“Do you mind if I Skype,” he asked politely.
Not if you don’t mind if we drool over molten chocolate cake with fig and coffee ice cream, I telegraphed mentally.
No, not at all – go right ahead.
Why do people talk on Skype as if they’re in a spacecraft orbiting Mars? Houston, can you hear me? Oh yes, and they’ve got audio in Airey’s Inlet too.
The young man’s connection kept dropping out, but by the time he spoke to his little niece we were all up to date on the family gossip.
Then came the question. “Why do you look so sad Milly Moo?” he asked.
“M-m-mummy h-hi-hit me. Mummy hit me hard on my face,” wailed a little voice that seemed to momentarily silence even effervescent television chef Manu.
“Oh, she’s was just being a total pain. I’ve had it with her today,” came the exasperated voice of the mother over wracking sobs.
No one had tuned in to watch The Slap.
We left the discomforted English lad holding his tearful niece in his hand.
Suddenly, we’d lost our appetite.