After our effing fantastic flood relief rabbit cook up last night (or two nights ago now) there was still a bit of chicken and rabbit left. I always have fun with leftovers. I wait until everybody has left the house and then I sit back and have a glass of wine and I slowly… No. Not that much fun!

I know a lot of people who won’t do leftovers, but I like to think that I’ve had the forethought of mind to get my mis-en-place ready for a couple of meals tomorrow. The actual facts may state that I over catered, or maybe I don’t have as many friends as I thought I did, but I’ll stick to my original story…

The truth about the chicken is last night… I woke up at four o’clock and had an insane craving for a chicken, bacon, cheese and mayonnaise toasted sandwich…I don’t know if someone may have cheekily got me pregnant or intravenously gave me a big ol’ J, but I wanted that shit bad. If we had mayonnaise in the fridge it would’ve happened. I seriously contemplated making said mayonnaise but the thought of waking the wiffy with the sound of kitchen antics didn’t really appeal to me. I am a smart man. So anyway, I woke and the craving was still solidly there. So that’s what I did with the left over chicken.

The rabbit fell prey to my love of pâté and things of the like (charcuterie). Blitzed up with its stuffing and a knob of butter, that would be my dinner this evening. Served in awesome style with guindillas (Spanish pickled chillis. Try them, they’re magic), olives, pickled slaw and croutons. Great work me.

I took a heap of really nice photos of the rabbit pate but it seems that my camera is having some more personality issues and wants to go and join the circus and live the life of a travelling performer. So alas, it refuses to do the duties it was born to do, thus making itself redundant. Last time I checked there is no retirement/pension plan for cameras so I guess it will be joining the queue at the local soup kitchen. What can I say? It was fun while it lasted… at least the flood waters have subsided and the rains are now but a mere trickle (not unlike an old man at the urinal at the local RSL), so the walk into town with it’s hobo pack should be a little more comfortable. If you see a stray Cannon camera trekking on the highway maybe offer him a ride… and tell him he will always have a special spot in my heart, but I got no room for baggage around here.