In which I am a lying liar who lies

[desperance]

I dropped a foodstuff on the floor. There was the predictable thunder of tiny paws, the hurtling arrival of small furry bodies.

I said to them - they heard me! - "It's celery, for cryin' out loud! Boys don't like celery!"

Apparently I was mistaken; boys do too like celery. At least, when it's been simmered for eight hours in lamb-juice they do.

Remarkably, it was Barry-the-Baz who ascertained this, by dint of getting there first, standing over it and growling furociously while he nommed.

And now I must, I really must put my hat on and go to work. It's after twelve already.

Unless I just stay home, and spend the day making inconsequential blog-posts...