Tales from The Chair, Chapter 2

The boy is unwell, so I have relented on my easy food campaign a little and am making him a lovely, wholesome, slow-cooked beef stew. We're about even on the scores this week - I got him to eat his first freshly-cooked meal yesterday (cold roast chicken and penne with a tomato sauce and mixed veg), but he equalised by chucking a spoonful of the red stuff up the sofa. Which isn't leather, and doesn't wipe clean. His aim is improving in both accuracy and distance now, and as it's too cold and wet to feed him in the garden where I could just hose everything down, I think I might be in for a very messy winter.

What is it about the smell of some beef and onions being chucked in a pan to brown that renders him incapable of having his ususal 2 hour lunchtime nap? He's dosed up to the eyeballs on Medised, so it beats me how he's able to keep his eyes open. But somehow, the smell of beef and onions is doing it's trick and he's wide awake, jumping and shouting, shouting and jumping.