The day my old mate Kenny died.
Kenny and I had been friends for 32 years. We went through thick and thin together.
He was always at my house, always by my side when I was cooking.
Kenny and I travelled far and wide. I first met him in New Zealand, that was where he was born.
We travelled to Western Samoa, spending several years soaking up the relaxing Island lifestyle.
We went back to New Zealand, spending another couple of years there.
It was then over to Sydney and a few different places in Australia.
I finally brought him home to the Mallee, the place where I was raised.
My mother met him and thought he was a little bit fancy.
Kenny never complained about all the travelling. He was always there when I went to my new house, wherever in the world it was.
I couldn’t cook properly if Kenny wasn’t at my side.. It was essential to have him with me in the kitchen.
My kids all loved him, they learnt much from him as he was so versatile and could do many different tasks.
At times I was a bit rough on him. I would make him work flat out for hours at a time, he never complained. Other times I would let him just coast along, taking it easy.
Deep down in my heart, I knew I would outlive him, but I was unprepared for his sudden demise.
I should have seen it coming. He was starting to show signs that all was not well.
He wasn’t going as fast as he could and would make strange noises.
A couple of weeks ago I had a mammoth task of making 72 mini pavlovas for a friends’S party. I really needed Kenny to help. I couldn’t do it without him.
Wouldn’t you know it! He died halfway through mixing up the first batch of egg whites.
Darn it!
Next day I had to go out and buy a new Kenwood Chef!