Ouch

As I stretched to reach a high shelf in Waitrose this afternoon I felt something land on my shoe, and it was a sock that had remained in my trousers overnight and managed to wriggle its way out. I had to pick it up oh so casually, open my bag slowly, slowly, and then pop it away with an air of complete indifference. Or is that how seasoned shoplifters secrete their stolen wares? I think the store was too busy for the staff to detect a wrong 'un, but I felt as guilty as if I were being filmed thieving. It's not as if it's the first time it's happened. Standing on the platform at Gloucester Road tube station waiting to go to work one morning I felt something moving down my leg, but it wasn't until I was seated opposite a whole row of passengers that it actually emerged. I think they were mostly Australians with huge backpacks who had got on at Earls Court, so that probably didn't weigh too heavily on he embarrassment scales. But still. Shake and hang will be my new year's mantra.

There are few nicer things as the evening deepens than to remember that you have half a takeaway Indian meal in your fridge left over from yesterday. As Christmas nears with all its intense focus on food and menus I find that routine cooking just becomes tedious, so I give up for a few days. I've got a Charlie Bigham for tomorrow night, lasagne I think. The shopping is mostly done now, and I've succeeded in getting it into the fridge and larder without his majesty stealing anything. It's not as if he hasn't tried. Returning with two big packs of water I found him again with his long beak in a bag, sniffing around like a gourmand getting a hint of buried truffle. I gave him a look and it was enough. He just can't control his impulses, defer gratification. At five years old he should be close to this milestone. I'll be watching.