Sunday dinner with the folks is something I don't mind enjoying. There's a familiarity in the cooking, something I've known since birth, and to be honest, with my parents getting older I do prefer to keep a eye on them. I find it heartbreaking to watch these people I've always known slowly shrivel and weaken. Deep down, I know it will happen to me too.

But in between the persistent medical disorders and the increasing clumsiness there are moments of levity. Sat at the table munching away, my mother asked if anyone had been given an extra yorkshire pudding. Erm... No. But only three had been put on plates and four had been made. This can only mean a phone call to Perry Mason... Still, just in case, I'll post photocopied missing pudding notices on local lamposts offering rewards for information. Doublyoo doubleyoo doublyoo dot missing pudding dot com as well. that way if it gets past the police cordon at ports around the country Interpol will be able to trace its movements and return the errant pudding to its owners.

If you find a lost yorkshire pudding, please mail me immediately. It's round, well formed, light brown with a biege center.

Happy Ending of the Week

"Oh..." Said my mother is suprise, "There it is.... (chuckle) It was right in front of me all the time. Fancy that..."

Hello? Perry? Yep, call it off mate. The pudding is alive and... Ohmigawd! Someones eaten the pudding!