Yorkshire vegetable rolls. No gravy.

In between my starting to make dinner and getting the yorkshires in the oven, Barney announced that he was in the middle of making rolls and they would have to go in to a different temperature. as a result, the roast potatoes are done (and cooling!!!!) the yorkshires are just starting to cook and the rolls are half done.
I am both of two kinds of cook. Either I throw everything into some sort of pot and demand that it turns into something edible in the oven or I follow the recipe carefully (as far as ingredients allow) and plan everything minutely, pausing to clear up and make lists of timings.
This was to have been a recipe day, but the rolls have thrown everything out and I now have no idea what needs to be done next to which ingr3edients....No no, there can't be 3! Ooops. I've forgotten the veg.
Barney claims to need to follow a recipe exactly and always. And he never clears up after himself.
We aren't entirely compatible in the kitchen.
Also I had a dentist's appointment today. I'm quite grown up about the big D these days. (In my youth I used to get a trifle hysterical and/or miss appointments on a regular basis). The appointment was in the morning so I had a banana (on the principle that it would keep me going for a while but all traces could be removed from the teeth easily) and then after the thing was over, I had some soup...I tried bread but found myself chewing something much, well, chewier than bread. Probably mouth I thought, and decided to leave the bread till the mouth had returned to its proper place and didn't feel quite so full of itself.
Later when mouth had returned and had made it quite clear that it had been treated unkindly while absent, I ate the bread even though it was a bit stale by then.
But a small bowl of soup, half a bread roll and a banana don't really constitute breakfast and lunch after a traumatic experience. (yes I said I was grown up about it now but that only means I go to my appointments, behave sensibly and don't feel like bursting into tears half way down the street after the job is finished).
I should mention that Mr D is a very good, efficient quick dentist and the job is always done much sooner than I expect. And unlike one or two previous dentists, he doesn't tell me off for occasionally going Aghh and Errw when the cold water jet hits those hot spots. (during the cleaning and polishing bit)

Hmm. Well I think I have demonstrated that sandwiching rolls in between dinner and imbibing whatever it is that dentists give you to keep you quiet while they make horrible noises an inch or two away from your ears and make your head vibrate, is bad for the brain. And don't, please don't, tell me how much nicer it all is if you just don't bother with the injection. OK? Just don't.
It sounds like time to get back in the kitchen and see how bad the cold potato, warm roll, hot yorkshire situation is.

Update: it was alright but it could have done with some gravy. And here are some of next door's crocuses as a reward for reading my deranged drivel.*
*If you actually read this far. Otherwise, don't look at the crocuses.