A cockentrice

Running about getting ready for my holiday. Sam who is house sitting came by with Lorraine tonight and I briefed him on cat business over the fish and chips they'd brought with them. I suspect he thinks Calliope is a cat.

I will miss Lorraine. We were diverted by the TV as Heston Blumenthal was cooking a Tudor-inspired cockentrice. Fascinating TV. Like the craziness of creating a creating a Frankenstein animal filled with a medley of meats. I'm turning into a Blumenthal fan.

Otherwise spent the day tidying, hoovering, laundry and so on in between admin and emails, while experiencing another periodic wave of resentment about the absence of servants. Late at night, when I was in bed reading Bombers 1939-1945 by Kenneth Munsun, I noticed Calliope had stealthily unpacked four pairs of socks from my open case.

Next stop Guernsey.

Below Bluementhal's cockentrice.