Summoned back

Still remember how fast heart raced when received text from Henri.  Was in middle of giving Powerpoint presentation to residents of Lyon zoo.  Topic was dialogue, specifically how using subtext can add pace and tension to conversations.  As about to give examples, mobile phone announced text.  Ignored it, then another one arrived.  On point of switching phone off when call came through.  Caller's voice so distressed it took me time to realise it was Henri.  Apparently he's been accused of plagiarising a recipe in his book, Guineapigging Out.   Recipe is Timbales de poireaux crémeux en crumble de noix.   He cooked it for me and Neville one night and it was so delicious that at the time wondered if he'd nicked the idea from another chef.  The main ingredients of the original recipe were: ricotta cheese, a blue cheese, leeks, bacon, cheese flavoured crackers, walnuts, all spiced up with nutmeg and other seasoning.  Had two helpings; Neville had twelve - which resulted in him being up half the night with the squits, but that's another story.

Anyway, Henri's accuser is very old woman who lives near Lille in north of France.  Distraught, he begged me to return to Edinburgh asap.  As preferred mode of travel was Eurostar, decided to take train to Lille, then to London.  When informed Henri of intention to pacify her, he told me to let her know his recipe differed significantly enough to be original.  Instead of using leeks, as she did, he used onions.  He'd also opted for garlic flavoured crackers not the cheese ones in her recipe.  Main difference, he claims, is the half bottle of Marsala he added to the sauce.  No wonder poor little Neville had such a rough night: mice are known for their low tolerance of alcohol.  In fact, his bottom was so sore the next morning, I had to rub tea tree oil on it.  But am digressing.  Again.

Managed eventually to track down elderly woman.  This was made easier by her reputation for accusing recipe book writers of pinching her ideas.  Apparently she can often be found pacing the fields, ranting about recipes that have been stolen from her.  The afternoon I arrived in her village, she was doing this.  This time, doubly incensed that the recipe thief was a guinea pig, she had found a foghorn, and her shouting could be heard throughout a five mile radius.  She was so irate that she threatened to go to Edinburgh and kill Henri.  By this time I was becoming twitchy.  Despite his many faults - pretending to have French ancestry and embracing all things French in an ostentatious way, and his irritating habit of always turning conversations to the subject of him -  am fond of fellow creative writing student, and would never wish any harm on him.

As explained by Henri, tried to point out differences in his recipe.  This was difficult as she wouldn't keep still, and, even worse, foghorn was blasting my tender eardrums.  In despair, slunk back to village.  There, by luck, stumbled upon group of art students in café.  They seemed particularly sensitive to a cat's distress, and on hearing of situation, leaped into action.  Within twenty minutes, had produced banner, on which they'd painted list of ingredients in Henri's recipe, and list of ones in her dish.  They then accompanied me to the field, and waved banner around until she was forced to notice and read it.  She didn't exactly crumple, but did look shaken.  The most articulate of the art students then asked her if she would withdraw her complaint of plagiarism.  She didn't agree on the spot, instead saying she would talk to her lawyer again, see what he advised.  On hearing the word 'lawyer', I froze.  It reminded me that I am soon to face a trial, accused of libel of principle tutor of creative writing course.  During the weeks I'd been residing at the zoo in Lyon, had managed to forget about it, most of the time.


Too late to catch last train to London, so found animal-friendly room in restaurant in village.  Next day was up earl, and by mid afternoon had arrived back in Edinburgh.  Met by Henri at Waverley - in wheelchair, apparently too fragile to waddle around at moment.

Purrs

Bakhtin