I don’t know about you, fans, but I really enjoy cooking. And if I do say so myself, I’m quite the gourmet chef, which means of course that my ingredients are always locally sourced and one hundred percent organic. One of my favourite tricks is to toss all my leftovers into a frying pan, and then use my particular brand of magic to turn them into a new haute cuisine masterpiece. But alas, pride in our own achievements can sometimes cost us dear. And so it was, that wishing to show off my latest delectable dish to my good friend Bumble the miniature badger, I asked him over for dinner last night. But unfortunately for us both, in a rash moment I also invited him to help me prepare the meal – which, with the benefit of hindsight, was far and away the stupidest thing I have ever done in my life…

I had just finished collecting up the laundry for the weekly wash, when, at the stroke of six, a knock at the door announced Bumble’s arrival. So I put the basket down on the floor outside the kitchen and went to welcome my dinner guest. The badger came into the room with a beaming smile, then after pressing a large bottle of Rosé wine into my hand, exclaimed, ‘I say, Grumpkin, something smells absolutely delicious! What are you making?’ He began lifting lids off the many pots on the stove and sniffing with obvious delight.

‘Thanks, Bumble, I call it Fried Surprise, because it has a really big kick-back. You don’t get the full taste till after you’ve swallowed it, so don’t say I didn’t warn you!’

‘Sounds marvellous, what can I do to help?’ he asked eagerly.

‘Well, how about chopping up these ingredients?’ I suggested, passing him a cullender filled to the brim with vegetables.

‘Twizzle my whiskers, there’s enough here to feed an army!’ exclaimed the badger, gazing wide-eyed at the colourful heap of produce. ‘Are you sure we really need all these?’

‘Of course we do, Bumble. And we haven’t even started on the main course yet, so I hope you’re a fast worker. After all, when we’ve finished that, there’s dessert to prepare, isn’t there!’

‘Right, well, I’d better fetch my glasses, then,’ he said. And with that he went into the hallway to get them out of his jacket.

But I was just turning up the heat on the frying pan, when all of a sudden there was an almighty thud!

With the house still shaking from the impact, I rushed out of the room to find the badger sprawled face down on the floor, clothes scattered everywhere.

‘Bumble! What happened? Are you all right?’ I cried.

‘Oh yes, I’m perfectly fine! I’m ever so sorry, I must have tripped over your laundry basket. Yes, yes, I know – I really should get some new specs,’ he said apologetically, wiping them with a handkerchief before replacing them on his nose.  ‘Everything looks hazy through these, and I’ve been meaning to go to the optician’s for ages.’ Then as I started picking up the laundry, ‘Oh, don’t worry about that, Grumpkin. I’ll put the clothes back in the basket, you carry on with the cooking.’

Sure enough, moments later order had returned to the hallway and my guest was busy dicing vegetables. By this point I had also washed some strips of fish to add to the fry-up. There was quite a bit of it, so I laid it all out in neat rows on one of the chopping boards, ready for Bumble to slice into bite-sized pieces. Meanwhile the badger was making such good progress with the vegetables that he actually had time to clean up as he went along, sponging down the work surfaces and then drying them off with a tea towel. I was well impressed!

‘What a super job,’ I told him. ‘If you carry on at this rate we’ll be ready to eat in an hour!’

‘Really? Oh, good, I’m starving!’ he said, handing me a bowl of chopped tomatoes. ‘Preparing all this food gives you a real appetite.’

Indeed, we were now working with such seamless coordination that no sooner had Bumble finished cutting up one lot of produce, than he passed it to me for the masterchef touch while he got on with another batch. What a great team we were! Who could possibly have guessed things would go so wrong?

Well, after a while the phone rang in the next room, and as I went out to answer it, I left him strict instructions:

‘Could you keep stirring the soup, Bumble? And the tomatoes need more salt, I think. Oh – and you can throw away those vegetable peelings if you like.’

‘Right you are, leave it to me,’ said he, slinging the dishcloth over his shoulder as he got to work. Then I remembered a couple more things. ‘And while you’re at it, now should be the right time to add the fish to the main dish,’ I said. ‘Could you slice it up for me and put it in the frying pan? Oh, and you’d better reduce the heat, too, or else it’ll burn.’

‘Will do, Grumpkin, but if you don’t hurry up you’re going to miss that call!’ he pointed out. And so taking the hint, I hurried to the phone and left the badger to get on with it.

The caller turned out to be a pretty lady rat named Tracy Treat whom I’d recently met at a party, and who just happened to have no plans for the evening. Well, once I knew this, seeing that my abundance of wonderful food was far more than two people could eat, clearly the most logical course of action was to ask her to join us for dinner. So with the invitation graciously accepted and the meal preparations now complete, all that remained for me to do was to get spruced up, pour myself a drink, and look forward to a lovely evening with friends…

It all started so well. As Tracy stepped into the house and slipped off her coat, I couldn’t help but be awestruck by her red satin dress and diamond necklace, set off so superbly against her sleek brown fur. She wore perfume, too – a seductive, musky scent that held me totally captive to her rodent charms. And the feeling was clearly mutual. Handing me the coat, she dipped her eyelids in a display of shyness that was the sure sign of how attractive she also found me. I can tell you right now, fans – I was smitten! After exchanging polite greetings, it wasn’t long before we were sitting down and relaxing with some Elderflower wine while the meal finished cooking. And then at last there we were at the dining table – me at the head, Bumble on my left, and the lovely Tracy seated on my right. As we slowly sipped our steaming soup, my latest lady love was lolling at my side, gazing lazily into my eyes and making soft little sucking sounds as she strained the spoonfuls through her teeth. Could there ever have been a more delightful creature on Planet Earth? From that moment on, I tasted, saw, and heard nothing else in the world but Tracy Treat!

Perhaps that was why I was the last person to notice that not all of my dishes embodied the textures and flavours prescribed by the recipes. For example, the fried fish pieces were long and straggly and very hard to chew, whilst the tomato sauce which covered them was still lacking salt, but now possessed a gritty, fiery kind of quality that did not settle well in the stomach. And that wasn’t all. The chocolate dessert had a distinct curry flavour, the apple pie smelled really fishy, and the strawberry trifle was too salty to swallow. Of course Bumble was far too polite to make mention of those anomalies. Tracy, however, had no such inhibitions.

‘Mama Mia, what on earth have you done to these chips?’ she demanded suddenly, drawing my attention to one of the few culinary cockups that I had yet to savour. A bunch of contorted potato strips sent tendrils twisting like corkscrews from the end of her fork.

‘Chips? Ah, you must mean the frittes frisées,’ I corrected her, scrambling my wits to explain away the aberration. ‘Yes, I’m glad you like those, they’re quite a novelty, aren’t they! I used an old Breton recipe that’s been in my family for generations.’

‘But – my, they’re so black! They look burnt to a crisp, are they safe to eat?’

‘Safe to eat? You won’t find a better batch of caramelised French fries anywhere in the land!’

‘And these peas – at least I think they’re peas – they seem to be an odd kind of pink colour… Erm, is that normal?’

At this I burst out laughing. ‘Oh no, Tracy, of course that’s not normal! These are Rose Peas, a very rare variety indeed! Rose Peas are at a premium, you know. I had to have them specially imported from India where they grow them as a niche vegetable. Now do tell me what you think of them!’

‘Uh, well…’ My glamorous guest appeared slightly queasy. ‘I think I might pass on those,’ she said finally, ‘but the fried fish looks nice, though.’ She popped a dark, dangly piece into her mouth and began to chew. Then ever so slowly her expression changed. She gulped hard several times and for a moment seemed to struggle for air. ‘Erm… can I please… use your rest room?’ she gasped at length, slapping a hasty hand over her mouth. Then without another word she jumped from her chair and bolted out of the kitchen. I shot a questioning glance at Bumble, but to my dismay he wasn’t looking too bright either.

‘Apologies, Grumpkin, but I’m feeling a bit sick,’ he said. ‘Mind if I ask you a favour? I know there’s an awful lot of dish washing to do here, but I really think I should go home to bed. I need to get out of these tight clothes and into something more comfortable, if that’s all right with you… if you don’t mind my asking, that is?’

I couldn’t believe it, within three minutes both my guests had left, and now here I was surrounded by heaps and heaps of delicious gourmet food that I couldn’t possibly demolish by myself. Well, the ungrateful pair! It was a disgrace, that’s what it was! If that was how they rewarded a friend’s hospitality, then they certainly didn’t deserve to dine with ME again! And so, ruminating on these and plenty more angry thoughts that are better left unsaid, I began picking up plates to start the great clear-up.

It did strike me as odd when I saw scouring powder amongst the various herbs and spices standing next to the cooker. I was even more surprised when I discovered a large pile of fish strips in the pedal bin. Here was the ultimate proof (as if I really needed it) that Bumble the Badger is totally useless in the kitchen! But that wasn’t the worst thing. To top it off, when I went to load the washing machine, I couldn’t find my pyjamas anywhere. Huh, isn’t that typical of him! Trust him to talk to me in riddles! ‘Can I ask you a favour?’ he begins. Then he goes on, ‘I really need to get out of these tight clothes and into something more comfortable, if you don’t mind my asking.’ Well, he keeps hinting that he wants something from me, without actually spelling it out. I mean REALLY! If he needed to borrow my jim jams for the night, why couldn’t he just bite the bullet and ask me?

Oh, I say, terribly sorry fans! Got to stop here… I think I’m going to throw up!