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There I was, happily guzzling my paté on cracker. I went to cut another bit of paté and hit something solid. I prised it out of the remaining block of paté and felt distinctly queasy.
What was it? Clearly it should not have been there. My first thought was a cooked mouse fetus. And before you summarily dismiss that as outrageous, I must tell you, I do have experience of mouse fetuses, albeit a long time ago in my youth when I was the proud possessor to two pet white mice.
A quick check of the ingredients established that such was not envisaged as one of them.
When the wave of nausea passed I was more inclined to think it might have been a mushroom that snuck passed the chopper, but I was not going to find out the hard way.
Back to the store, with whom I left the questionable paté; they contacted the supplier who contacted the supplier's supplier, who eventually contacted me. By this stage the issue was getting murkier as the store had by now lost the bag of evidence. However, the likelihood was that it was a mushroom and the man from the suppliers was very nice.
He said he'd be sending me something for my trouble, and sure enough, some days later a letter arrived regretting my cause for concern and enclosing a cheque for any inconvenience that may have been caused.
Now, this cheque has faced me with the following dilemmas.
It is crossed and made out to a variant of my name. So if I decide to cash it, I will have to lodge it to my bank account, and most likely sign it on the back using the variant, which I will have to practice for a week, my forging skills being what they are.
It is for a trivial amount, and as cheques are now being phased out, I wonder if I held on to it would it actually increase in value, as cheques become rarer and one for this amount rarer still, if not unique.
My friend Vivion has pointed to the simple fact that I am still here irrespective of what the damn thing was. I surrender.
