There have been some very strange things happening in my cottage the last few cat weeks. I haven’t taken any notice of them until now because I had thought it was Mr. Pig up to his old tricks of trying to make me believe my cottage is haunted, but I actually think it is, dear readers. Mr. Pig was busy for a few cat hours defrosting from his make-shift poultice snow-globe, so he couldn’t possibly have moved my plate of spam fritters from the stove to my sitting room coffee table or pinched three fifths of my very special lump of cheese from the Devonshire hills. Then there was the mystery of knockings on my letter box and cat door and no one there when I answered them. Then it came to me, dear readers, I was experiencing a psychotic episode, so I was. I’ve read about this happening to others in my Take a Break magazine and it usually occurs after some sort of accident. Since Carpet Bag pranged me over the head I’ve been ‘seeing’ into the future, so I have and I think it has caused me to be more sensitive to the supernatural happenings in my lovely old cottage. I believe the sieve is the antenna to another world. For example, the other cat day I knew She was going to trip over in my garden. I saw the entire vision in my head, so I did. Two cat hours later when I was surveying my estate from my sitting room window I observed She feeding the wretched chickens, who by the way seem to be refusing to produce any eggs, when suddenly as She made her way across my garden She tripped over my French Boules set which I had left on the footpath. The following day another vision flooded my mind of She slipping over in my kitchen. Low and behold, half a cat hour later She slipped on some ice cream I’d accidentally dripped on the floor whilst I had been consuming a snackette de morderes of spam fritters (I have a sweet version mid afternoon to boost my ever depleting sugar levels). Anyway, after this confirmation of my psychoticness I decided to purchase a set of Tarot cards so I can share my genius insightful knowledge with others. I am busy learning what the cards mean at the moment but I’m sure it won’t take long. How hard can it be? The card reading customer tells you their problem and you give them your advice. It’s a perfect calling for me with my genius, collective life skills, dear readers.
Anyway, this cat week we managed to film a full episode of my wonderful culinary programme without too many problems. It was mainly due to the fact Mr. Pig was unable to speak or help with the preparations because he was still defrosting, so he had to just sit quietly next to me and pretend he’d prepped all the food. This worked very well for me, dear readers and I was able to concentrate much better without having to listen to his constant jacasser in my ears. The only desaccord I had was with Gracie over the removal of my sieve which I still have attached to my head. I daren’t move it, dear readers because it could disconnect the ‘aerial’ so to speak, for my psychotic connection. Then we had a wee querelle over the usage of my culinary expertise for this weeks dish of Galette de Pommes de Terre aux Tomates. I wanted to use ready made hash browns from my freezer but Gracie said I had to make it all with my own fair baked beans. I pointed out that it was not my fault that Mr. Pig was rendered too incompetent to peel and slice the potatoes and I couldn’t do it because my baked beans are far too famous and precious to risk ‘snagging’ on any sharp utensils. She gave in after I threw myself onto my kitchen floor and threatened to sabotage the entire days filming by shutting myself into my sitting room to watch ‘Trash in My Attic’. I must get myself a caravan for future colere throwing, so I must. Realising I wasn’t going to put up with any nonsense, she also agreed to me using my culinary creativity by allowing me to add a Frazzle crumble topping to the dish.
So, for this recipe you need to layer your hash browns with chopped crispy bacon, onion and garlic. Cover with stock and butter, top with cheese (preferably luxury fromage from the Devonshire hills unless of course your guinea pig lodger has scoffed it or it has mysteriously disappeared) and crumbled Frazzles and pop in the stove for half a cat hour. I wouldn’t bother with the other ingredients, it tastes far better – the people from French would be proud of the way I am transforming their cuisinery, so they would.
I must envoyer d’urgence, dear readers because I am practicing my first psychotic reading on Carpet Bag and I need to make sure Mr. Pig has practiced the card dealing tricks I showed him and is wearing his uniform which consists of a tailored shirt and sparkly waistcoat. He has agreed to be my assistant as part payment for ‘editing’ his new book. He’s not happy about it because he feels I didn’t ‘edit’ his work properly. I realise now what my Literally an Agent must have to put up with. I had to throw most of his book onto my wood burner, dear readers because his writing just wasn’t good enough and he has clearly copied some of the recipes from other cook books. I advised him to rewrite it, which is what a proper editor does. If he wants to be an illiterary genius like me he’ll have to get used to it, so he will…
Your best fluff
Piss. S. Some of you have written to me to express your concern over my treatment of Mr. Pig last cat week. I might ask you, dear readers, what about his disrespectful treatment of me? All I have ever been is a good friend to him. I realise in the past I may have been a wee bit mean but I have truly helped him from the bottom of my baked beans. For example, I had a psychotic vision the other cat day that he was going to have a very nasty accident which involved my ride on lawn mower. In order to save him from his trouver la mort, I waited patiently for him to dawdle across my lawn, switched off the engine and ‘swiped’ him off said grass with my rake. Then I ‘tied’ him securely to the flex on my Swing Ball in order to keep him safe for the rest of the day. Not only had I saved his life, dear readers but he had the fortunate opportunity of ‘watching’ the Swing Ball tournament I played with Gracie and Ethel that afternoon. He’s a lucky little guinea pig, so he is…