Hasta la Pasta, Baby!

I have eaten the forbidden fruit. I am naked and unadorned. Well, not exactly, but I should have stuck to apples. And as I write this, I am fully clad, actually. It's just that the waistband is a tad tighter than previously.
My neighbour, Lillie, was all intent on tackling her wisteria with my electrical hedge shears, if I had been foolhardy enough to lend her this inappropriate weapon of wisteria destruction.
"No," I said, "Have my long handled pruners; have my secateurs."
She was just about to balance on a chair outside the house,
"I've done it before.." she reassured gaily.
I quickly assessed my First Aid prowess, and decided that in this potential for disaster a Band Aid wouldn't cut it, so to speak. I went back to the shed to get a step ladder for her.
An hour later she was back with all the equipment and a lasagne. She had been batch-cooking and insisted.
Well, her parents are Italian and this was the real deal. No Slimming World version: it was the full fat exquisite version.
I find myself strangely moved by these acts of neighbourliness. Moved, but not in the same direction as the needle on the SW scales tomorrow.
"Bugger the consequences," as my dear old Dad would have said, "We'll fry another goldfish!"
Which might, come to think of it, be my next dietary tactic.

I've got my eye on you, Charlie..