Despite the awesome power of our yuppie-fu (and it is awesome, you'd best respect), we have taken more than four years to work our way through the bottle of balsamic we bought as "emergency rations" when we first moved in. And we've only accelerated consumption recently with a sudden spate of rocket-related salad things. (Insalade de Chez Dee: rocket, shaved parmesan, thinly sliced pear, balsamic and olive oil. Combine, consume. Yuppie-fu represent.)

In any case, we were somewhat alarmed to discover a big wad of sludge in the bottom of the balsamic. There was a lot of holding the bottle up and making it goop around the inside of the glass. Which was clearly vastly entertaining. But then we needed to recycle it, which meant emptying it out.

Anfy prised the top off the bottle (in the process spraying pretty much the entire kitchen with balsamic... tasty) and tipped it down the sink. Except the sludge did not want to go down the drain, so he scooped it out, watched it quiver for a bit, and then slung it in the bin.

The resemblance the sludge bears to the mutant alien space creature from Cowboy Bebop: Toys in the Attic is far too great for my liking. If it comes out and bites us in our sleep, there will be a whole world of I-told-you-so going on in this house.