Mole in the Hole – The finale of a (00)7 part series : 2 minute read by Farriz Mashudi 26/08/2020
Toad in the Hole is a dish of sausages using traditionally, the cheapest meats, baked in Yorkshire Pudding batter. Knowing this, you wouldn’t be wrong to wonder if our Mole’s goose was cooked, his hide skinned. Had he made his escape to the North? Truth be told, no one, not even Jim, the ‘exterminator guy’ (aka ‘The Ferret’), could say for certain. Even if I’d wanted him to. . . A View to a Kill or Die Another Day? Spectre, maybe?
There’s a certain comfort in not knowing.
No dead body, there was nothing to be guilty of.
Would the uncertain death haunt me, though, for life?
Already, I’d gone down the path of butchering slugs. Yes, Live and Let Die . . . In my defence that they were incredibly fat and fleshy surely meant they’d had their fill, making them a great affront. Enough was enough. Four got snipped down their middles with the out-door scissors. Their oozing guts a slimy orange-brown. There was no blood, neither on the finger blades, nor on my hands. Did this make it tantamount to murders that didn’t count?
Never Say Never Again . . . I suppose I’ll have the answer when the time comes for atonement.
For now, the dirty deed done, all’s quiet on all fronts, excepting the climate, which is exceptional for the time of year. Welsh weather on the borders was becoming as terrible as the English kind, in all its varieties. If not for the heavy rain and blustery winds threatening even to uproot my favourite willow, I’d be out there now throwing a party in the rockery, on the gravel paths, amidst the dry-stone beds.
Was it the unseasonal gales that sent him packing? Whatever it was, the Mole has fled. Indeed, Skyfall.
Gone at last, Jim says he’s departed for good. Not dearly, it’s still time to pay up. Good riddance, costs. And it’s the same price whether it was his head Jim had, or whether it’s the back of the Mole that we’ll never see again. Quantum of Solace.
What’s this then? Increased mole activity in Nottingham? Our adjacent woods not good enough for him, Mr. Mole must have packed it all in and taken a road trip. Well, it is the season for migrants across the Channel. And across the borders now, too, it seems.
My Mole was or, still remains foul, of whom, dead or alive, it’s undeniable: He’s double-‘O’ one (001) at cooking up a storm, whilst feasting on him, is highly not recommended. His meat tastes horrid. (Although, according to the husband who has looked it up, Mole Jerky is a thing in parts of Yorkshire.)
Commiserations to all lawns, farmers’ fields and gardens north of Llangollen! From Wales with Love . . .
Adieu Mr. Mole, this is no au revoir. Moles are not forever. We don’t want to meet again.
Despatch him, do what you will, but please don’t send him back. Much like Daniel Craig’s latest — or last outing as Bond (We’ll see, won’t we?) — perhaps there just is No (better) Time to Die, and everyone’s blood pressure (even if it’s only the Queen of Hearts’ and mine) can hopefully be returned to normal.
For previous segments go to The Grumpy Naturalist menu.
From BBC One’s Great British Budget Menu: A recipe for Toad in the Hole.