This incredible little chap was rescued from a certain watery grave by Jenny, call me Hasselhof, my wife. In comparison to her constant vigilance for insects in danger of drowning in the pool or falling off a leaf, St Francis of Assisi would appear to have been a rampant vivisectionist. The cricket/grasshopper/cigale appeared to be a goner, but secret resuscitation rituals had him/her up and ready to rumble in no time. Another success. It does seem strange that in our garden, and sometimes in our house, we have hornets as big as helicopters and wasps on steroids, but none are remotely aggressive. Being French they may well be “en greve”. Whilst Jenny was ministering I was eyeing up the cricket in a culinary fashion. My New Guinea head saw finger food neatly wrapped in the geranium leaf, but with Jenny’s vegetarian habits I realised there were no legs on the idea, and too many on the cricket. Green was the colour, so courgettes/zuchinni seemed second best to crickets. I had just seen a starter of zuchinni, Serrano ham and mint in a copy of the “River Cafe Cook Book”, and a good dough from a pissaladière in “Under the Sun” by Caroline Conran. I added torn mozzarella. I carefully leavened the recipe with stupidity by adding out of date, and thus inactive, yeast to the dough. The oven appears to have been hot enough to burn off the stupidity and produce a very delicious result. The cricket has moved on and is living a fulfilling and independent life.