Nosh nosh

We're finding Elizabeth Hurley's weak point. Deprived of food for fifty minutes or so she gets anxious and wobbles. She says she's not diabetic but she must have food and then proceeds to point to various parts of her intestines in a lengthy explanation of French au pair digestive needs.

Badly translated, different parts of the body require different foods otherwise we will die. Probably by this weekend. The specific terminology about which part of Elizabeth Hurley's intestines require what sort of foods escapes me, but I can understand 'Je veux absolument manger des gateaux'. I nod in agreement and ask 'Est-ce que tu veux faire un gateau? Toute de suite?' Oui, apparently.

She may have been here less than a week but already I've done two emergency shops at the Co-op, Dig's discovered his breakfast's been eaten before he's got to it, we've been forced to stop at an emergency pizza shop, a 2lb pot of home-made blackberry jam I'd fondly got out for the duration of her stay has been largely emptied, she's complained about the lack of milk in the morning, and she's made a lime tart and scoffed it.

When the lime tart cooking started yesterday I felt quite forgiving at the thought of a bit of French cuisine, even though it took six eggs in the blink of an eye. Indeed the micro-slice I managed to fight for last night tasted delicious. Shark got a preferential slice, as did Squirrel and Tiger, and Dig got none. Then the rest of the 'citroen express' was put away under the cake lid for approximately 2 hours 15 minutes. After that it was strangely gone and Elizabeth Hurley was licking her lips and reaching for the jam pot.

So at the moment I am facing an empty fridge, another late night shop at the Co-op and secretly hoping that Elizabeth Hurley's punishment will come upon her when she wakes up one day and finds she is size 24.