my silly cat is patting the cursor

Interesting discoveries. A pork shoulder roast, slashed and filled with garlic, olive oil and rosemary, and cooked for five hours until the meat is falling off the bone in tender shreds, does the following:

• Makes jo, stv and Evil Landlord The Happy;
• makes delectable crackling, the impetuous devouring of which has burned the roof of my mouth rather severely;
• makes damned good sandwiches, cold, and with honey mustard, the following day.

< munches happily >

Important Shakespearean word in this context: snatch-pastry. Greedy person prone to the hasty and enthusiastic consumption of good food. I identify.

Last night's culinary excesses seem to have left me with a recurring attack of the Comedy Hiccups. Experience demonstrates that, while the "you're married to < insert horrible idea here >" statement has ceased to work as a cure, extreme attacks of giggling are somewhat effective. One such happened this evening, in rush hour traffic in Rondebosch, when my levels of irritation, frustration and hiccuping were abruptly lessened when an outbreak of annoyed hooting ahead of me slotted itself, neatly and with clearly rehearsed rhythm, into a broken minor triad, causing me to chortle happily. Music geekery rocks.