The Mystery of the Missing Sausages

A few days ago I made two casseroles from a bunch of Toulouse sausages, a couple of andouillettes and plenty of nice fresh veg from our own dear Widdicombe Fayre.

Each casserole was enough for two bloomin' enormous portions or three perfectly adequate ones.

Mrs The Millbrooker and I demolished two bloomin' enormous portions on the same evening for our dinner, and the second casserole was duly stored in the fridge to either be used up in the near future or frozen if we didn't get around to eating it quickly enough.

This evening, after a day's gardening, al fresco hairdressing (more of which anon) and a bottle of jolly nice rosé in the evening sun, we decided that cooking was too much effort so the still refrigerated sausage casserole would do the trick just about perfectly.

Imagine my surprise when I opened the lid of the casserole dish, which was still very much in situ at the back of the fridge, to find NO SAUSAGES. And precious little by way of veg, either.

Somebody had snaffled all the meaty bits, about two thirds of the sauce and most of the veggies. Putting on our mutual Sherlock heads, we've run down the list of suspects.

Trelawney and Tortue are both carnivorous small animals and are quite capable of opening doors. But not fridge doors, so they're pretty much in the clear.

It could have been Mr Nobody, but the kids stopped trying that excuse several years ago. Shame; it still works for me if I look innocent enough.

Then there's YarMatt who was definitely in the house over the last couple of days, but sausage thievery is probably not his style.

The Depitty's been about as well. That's a possible suspect. Mind you, he normally just grazes. Whilst this doesn't count him out completely, circumstantially it's less likely to be the dreadlocked biker in the family.

Which leaves us with either one of two younger ladies who might have got sufficiently bladdered on Saturday night when they went to see Freshly Squeezed at Maker to have eaten a several-day-old cold baked potato slathered in cream cheese (it's amazing what the munchies can do for you), raided from the fridge that very night in the wee small hours.

The cheesy snacks that we'd bought for film club had been opened in the same sloshed food spree; it would seem likely that some sausages disappeared down one or the other neck as well....hmmph.