Mostly links
and a BAD DOG
On Wednesday, the youngest dog, Lupin, came running in from outside, absolutely… you know what, I don’t even have the word. Reeking doesn’t cover it. Like, reeking to the power of infinity. If I hadn’t been here alone, I’d have left the house for a couple of hours to clear my lungs.
I grabbed him and put him in the sink for a bath, literally gagging. I was green with repulsion. Lupin was highly chipper and not remotely penitent.
In the afternoon, he went out for a wee and came back ages later looking delighted. Full of beans, shiny-eyed, all perky, tail quivering with joy. If anything, the stink was worse. I gave him another bath.
I have a really overdeveloped sense of smell. I can smell rotten fruit a day before it turns, ditto milk, I can smell citrus that’s about to go mouldy, and let’s just say I am gifted when it comes to the presence of mice. But I couldn’t work out what the smell was - not dead deer, not dead rabbit, not dead anything familiar. It came to me at 6am yesterday morning - the terrible smell was dead crab. Very, very old dead crab. Specifically, THE MISSING DRESSED CRAB from New Year’s Eve. I couldn’t understand where it had got to and thought either I mis-ordered or that the crab man had made a mistake.
But no. Lupin had at some point stolen a whole dressed crab and stashed it outside somewhere special. Treasure! And so I did not sit inside writing my book in the warmth. I roamed the land in the Baltic cold, trying to find the corpse of a random crab. Obviously it was hopeless - a needle in a haystack situation. I tried to make Lupin show me, but he basically put his hands in his pockets, whistled nonchalantly, and pretended he was only interested in barking at the hens.
A friend came to lunch yesterday and I was telling her about this - somewhat Pooterishly, rather like this post - when Lupin came trotting round the corner. She said, ‘Um, I think he might have just visited his crab again’. This time I had to wash him TWICE because once wasn’t enough. Then we went out for another look. No crab.
It could be anywhere. It could be buried. He could have put it in the neighbour’s field, for all I know. And there are so many unanswered questions:
Why is it still so stinking? You’d think it would have frozen into some sort of abeyance, given how cold it is (currently -4).
Why are the other two dogs, Brodie and Tails, not also frequenting the crab?
Above all, how is there any crab left at this point? Does Lupin treat vintage crab with such veneration that he knows to eke it out? He’s abnormally clever, so I would not put it past him (ditto human speech. I always think with the dogs that it’s only a matter of time).
Today I am only going to let him out on the lead, which seems such a shame because no dog loves running with his ears streaming in the wind like banners more than he does. But I’m thinking that if I act unconcerned and maybe even a bit distracted he might eventually lead me to his stash. I WILL FIND THAT CRAB.
I’m supposed to be writing my new book. I don’t feel like being a crab detective is a good use of my time.
Here are a few things I liked this week.
It’s the perfect weather for mashed potatoes and Rich Ox-Cheek Stew ↑ (this is the most delicious recipe, and really easy).
A jigsaw puzzle made of cookbooks to while away January.
The photographer Julian Broad’s divine house ↑ in Wales in the print edition of House & Garden, though not online yet sadly (it will be at some point).
How Danish people dress for winter.
A really good smoky eye tutorial. It’s in French but I don’t think it matters - just follow exactly what she’s doing and the sort of brush she’s using - the main thing is the small flat dense one for smudging.
James Marriott on how now is the end of the long 20th century - ‘The technocratic, good-mannered, optimistic and consensual politics we grew up with and which have prevailed in the West since the Second World War is not a normality to which we will inevitably return, but a part of history’. (I THINK this is a guest link).
Charred lettuce with Chinese sesame dressing.
How to start a sketchbook, and also 30 Days of Drawing.
Small, productive self-improvements.
America as outlier among Western democracies. Interesting re. ‘shared values,’ which are in fact not shared at all when it comes to guns or religion.
↑ Bonkers slippers of joy.
Rachel Richardson from Highly Flammable on Meghan Markle’s new lifestyle series for Netflix.
I’ve started the Dublin Trilogy (there are eight books) by Caimh McDonnell. Someone on Substack mentioned these - I can’t remember who, but thank you because I’m loving A Man With One of Those Faces. They’re crime fiction with jokes and feature a compelling detective called Bunny McGarry - brick shithouse, old school, casual approach to physical violence.
The Bowes Museum in County Durham is great (it’s also an amazing story: English gentleman - he was Bowes as in Bowes-Lyons, i.e. as in the late Queen Mother - marries French actress and builds her a giant chateau in Teesdale. There’s a novel in it). The museum contains an absolute wonder of the world, a life-size, fully articulated mechanical swan from the 18th century - 2000 moving parts and made of silver. I saw it in action a few years ago and it is completely magical, like something from a dream. If you’re ever near Barnard Castle, the swan is activated at 2pm every day. This film of it popped up on TikTok, of all places.
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It’s now 8.05am and I’m off to smash the ice on the goats’ drinking water before resuming my search (in another life I used to be a a person who ran around Soho until the early hours - at times like this the contrast is quite striking). Have a lovely Friday and do leave this post a ❤️ if you liked it, thank you! But sorry if this crab disgustingness has put you off your breakfast. If it’s any comfort, same.
Crab-atha christie??
Hilarious! when I was growing up our labrador stole an entire stilton and an entire brie one Christmas - buried them in the orchard. Roll on a few years and I have my own house and labrador - Jack - and one Christmas Eve, feeling very pleased with ourselves, my husband and I arranged a selection of hampers and treats, that we had bought as gifts for family and friends from Carluccios, under the tree and decided to pop to the pub for a cheeky G&T. It looked like a page from a magazine - so pretty.
In our festive haste and excitement we had forgotten to close the kitchen door to keep Jack safely away from anything he might consider to be a snack. We returned (much) later to find Jack resting and groaning among a pile of wrapping paper and vomit...only the wine survived. He had eaten Christmas.