We get Malyon back for a week at the end of the month: she finishes her exams on Monday, makes whoopee and then comes over, cunningly arriving two days too late for the barbecue. Them's the breaks when you look for the cheapest flights, I suppose: maybe I should stick a pork chop in the fridge for her. Whatever, it'll be rather good to see her. (Thank heavens for Skype - if it didn't exist I suppose someone would have to invent it. Makes it so much easier to have hour-long chats with the family diaspora. Although Margo does have the habit of holding the webcam upside-down to bring the mike to her mouth, which I imagine must make it sound pretty funny at the other end. Perhaps Mal has her speakers the wrong way up.)
It was even fine enough to incite me to drag the camera out and go for a wander up in the hills behind us. (Well, it wasn't actually foul enough to make the joys of coding and testing SQL stored procedures seem preferable.) I always take the camera with me on such occasions, ever since one time years ago when, about an hour from the house, I came across a pair of salamanders being beastly in the path in front of me. At the time I could probably have gotten away with taking a photo without risking being put inside for possession of lizard porn.
As a result of neglecting these two elementary precautions, we're going to find out what cassoulet lasagna tastes like. I suspect it'll be ... interesting. On the bright side, the dog has no taste buds and will eat anything that's left (despite a tendency to fish out the bits of carrot, and she doesn't like rice) and the most complicated part is making the cheese sauce. Helps if Jerry hasn't finished all the grated cheese, of course.
Another important food hint: don't eat raw slugs. If you do, and happen to be Australian (or are eating raw Australian slugs) you could, apparently, catch rat lungworm disease. If, that is, your slug has been eating rat shit; and of course, that's the sort of question one so often forgets to ask of one's meal before sitting down to a snack. So, children, always either cook or interrogate your slugs before eating them. I'm not an expert on invertebrates, still less on gastropodia, but I'd suggest perhaps a well-seasoned fricassée, served in puff pastry shells - but then again, if you're the sort of person who eats slugs you probably neither want nor need my advice. Come to that, you may well feel - with some justification - that someone who mixes cassoulet and pasta is hardly qualified to give lessons. Whatever, just saying.
That's all rather disgusting, so I'm off to watch Bones. And should ever a BBC series called "Luther" come your way, do watch it. Not that you'll die if you don't or anything so drastic, but you would regret it. Well, technically, if you didn't watch it you wouldn't regret not having done so, or vice versa, but you get my drift.