It was a dark and stormy night. The power went off at 3am. How did we know? Well, the fan ceased fanning us and you could have roasted an ox inside our bedroom. First problem was we couldn't find a flashlight, of which we own at least two. I managed to find a candle but couldn't locate a lighter, of which we own many. Meanwhile it was becoming clear that the problem lay not with our in-house trip switch but with the master trip. Four floors down.
Whose job would that be to go down and reset it? A man's, obviously. A woman's job is to remind him to put on a pair of pants before he goes out the door.
So a gas lighter was found and a candle lit, and by candle light two torches were unearthed. The next challenge was to find our cell phones so that we'd be able to communicate when Mr Fitzpatrick, decently attired, went downstairs. Two wild-haired butt-naked oldsters roving the apartment, candle in one hand, flashlight in the other, listening for the muted call of the Common Garden Mobile. And one of us an Eagle Scout.

Now a short cookery lesson on aubergines, eggplant, melanzana, call it what you will, a vegetable I've tried so very hard to like but without success. Our friend Ferruccio treated us to an amazingly more-ish spicy dish which took him a week to make. Five days for the aubergines to sit on his kitchen window sill and turn wrinkly, an hour or so to cook them in oil and spice them, and the remaining forty seven hours for them to sit in their juices and develop undreamed of heights of yummitude. And no secret ingredient, he swears. We shall see.