Christmas Food...

This Christmas, the kitchen abounded with all sorts of interesting food. The fridge bulged for the first time in months; the drinks cabinet creaked under the weight of its exotic cargo (Welsh whisky - I kid you not), like the sea-soaked timbers of a pirate ship. And, in the finest tradition, we drank, ate, and made merry.

The cats liked it too: they enjoyed very much their scraps of duck and roast beef, as well as their own little can of celebratory tuna, which came, this week, with no hidden foul-tasting pills, the way it normally comes.

And they seemed perfectly, perfectly content. But, last night, I noticed that Fran had an air of conspiracy about her:



Yes, she alone had made a precise inventory of the Christmas supermarket shop. And she alone had noticed that something very large had been stowed away in the deep freeze, left uncooked and uneaten...