Preparing for tomorrow

I have been pleased to find that tomorrow's fish, a salmon, is sized so that it will get into the fish kettle, and has slipped in already, looking snug.  I had anticipated that it would not, and so had ventured out to the Turkish shop at the bottom of the hill to buy foil and cook it en papilotte, and was anxious already about the thin quality of the stuff, and imagining hot buttery salmon slithering about the kitchen floor in a doomed and mis-timed bid for freedom.  No such fear now!  Just bouillon to spill...

So long as my mother doesn't linger in bed again then the festivities for St John the Evangelist, the patron of us Scriveners, should be straightforward enough.  And who is coming? I have rather lost my grip.  Neighbours and friends, those who haven't gone away at any rate.