Lunch in One Gulp

'Lovely fire, Why are you adding more wood?"

"....few people... on way to conference in Siena.... passing by from Rome.....might call in."

"What time?"

"One-ish."

I set off to put clean towels in the bathrooms, and dust the more obviously undusted - Philip Pullman should have set the novels here, we have dust for universes unknown to man, which is where it all must be coming from.

"What should I get from the butcher?"

"Meat."  This is the tight-lipped, growly bit of discovering that a salad with a prosciutto pannino isn't the menu for lunch, you understand.

Enthralled I unpack half a cow and most of a pig's insides variously stuffed into skins and casings.

"Did you tell him how many?"

"Oh yes.  He said he'd be able to send over more if that seemed insufficient."

So I put a bowl of fresh pasta with  Australian-bottled tomatoes and parmesan on the front end;  laid out the fire in a bed of coals and the meat (plus my hands and face) on grids and griddles over it; boiled the latest greenery from up the hill (that, at least, was an uplift to the heart), and stood in front of the shelves where the tablecloths are contemplating the likely damage.  People get carried away eating barbecued meat, even when it's indoors -  no, particularly when it's indoors in the middle of winter.  So it was a deep red, robustly woven linen, and large paper napkins.  Well you try getting tomato sauce followed by barbie off cloth ones.

Noticing a touch of fluster, Mr HG picked up a stray umbrella queueing to go downstairs with one pair of pruning shears, and some bright green plant ties that had settled in on the fireplace,  began refurling it correctly, and asked what else he could do to help.  I eyed him as he neatly pleated the edges of the refurled umbrella:

"You go into your study and earn lots of money after you've popped that umbrella downstairs."

"Right - they've just rung to say they've left the motorway, but everything looks under control now."