Harris has Some Friends round for Dinner

 There's been no entertaining in our house for years, much to the blog dog's regret. He's a very sociable chap, and loves the cooking all day, with delectable bits going his way - the crab was a massive hit - 

 

With food like this in the world, why do I get Chappie most of the time? 

 

Good question, Harry - it's cos we don't do show-off cooking very often. 

 

He also loves to have Visitor Blokes in the house. He doesn't mind Visitor Women - or didn't until the Incident of which we will speak in a moment, but blokes are welcomed with a good sniff at the crotch to determine that they are real blokes - he's not signed up to the trans agenda - then he sits the visitor bloke  down on the sofa, jumps onto his  knees, makes himself comfy and goes to sleep until dinner is announced.  

So this couple came round. The menu was ridiculous:

The Ridiculous Menu:

• Tiny Tartlets filled with piped cream cheese softened with double cream, flavoured with lemon and black pepper, with either prosciutto and slivered beetroot or shrimp and lemon
• Baby plum tomatoes, wedges of fennel, slivers of chili, red pepper batons and baby sweetcorn, roasted in seasoned olive oil with basil and served with wedges of crusty bread
• Mini steak, mushroom and celery pies, topped with flaky pastry and served with individual  small Mason jars of cream gravy
• Roast chicken breast in lemon and tarragon sauce, with baby Jersey Royals cooked in garden mint, whole French beans and black Evesham asparagus
• A square of chocolate cake, filled with cherry compote enlivened by Disaronno, topped with chocolate cream frosting and a whole cherry, plated with a chocolate star and grated bitter black chocolate
• Brie, Strathdon Blue and Wensleydale with cranberries, served with Orkney Butter biscuits.
• Figs and fresh cherries.

 I thought it best to make the effort, because, as Harris said, if we get a reputation for good cooking, people will want to be my friend and come round for dinner, than he'll get to do fine dining and sniff crotches. He's always liked his grub, even to the extent of hoovering up inappropriate snacks - 

 

A little sheep poo, Harry? 

 

No, I'm busy with this bit of slurry the fairmer kindly sprayed onto the lane.

 

The dinner guests put in a sterling eating performance, much to Harry's dismay - running from Livia to Octavius, paw on knee, asking:

 

Is there anything for me? 

 

Sorry, Harry, I said firmly, you've had yours. You've had enough. Stop it.

 

Sometimes he doesn't understand English, though, and continued to give Livia the big brown eyes and hollow, famished  cheeks.

 

No, Harry, there's none left. Livia has eaten all our food.

 

He understood that, alright. 

 

You've eaten all our food? he asked Livia, head cocked to one side.

 

 That's right, she said, patting her tummy, all gone, I've eaten it all up. 

 

Harry gave me such a look of appalled horror that I hastened to reassure him,

 

'S'okay, Harris, we'll get some more food tomorrow. 

 

I suppose that will have to do, he said sulkily, as he curled up on the settee, nose tucked into his nether regions, and proceeded to snore until tomorrow came and the food supplies could be renewed.