always, after some time away, what with having had all your meals cooked for you or bought for you, it’s hard to get back into the kitchen to try and scrape together a meal with whatever lurks in the depths of your pantry. still awaiting the major shoping trip, the fridge offers nothing except a door of sauces and a centimetre of milk in the bottom of a litre carton that the boy thoughtfully left in the fridge awaiting your return while he climbs a mountain back in tasmania. of course there are several bars and bags and lumps of chocolate in there, but even you, sugar glider, need something more salty and garlicky sometimes.

on this occasion you will be lucky, and there will also be a hunk of cheese on a shelf: peppercorn-studded pecorino, and hurray, still unmouldy. with a pool of olive oil, three cloves of old garlic chopped up, two handfuls of rocket that you bought on the way home from picking up the holiday snaps, and some spaghetti, you will soon have a bowl of lunch.