I was horrified to see two young boys playing Chicken on the busy dual carriageway into the city as I was leaving work the other night. It was rush hour. They were on a notoriously bad bend and one of them was actually lying in the road as the evening traffic unsuspectingly bore down on him. My first instinct was to call the police but I didn't know the local number and rationaled that if there was an accident, it was more important that someone could get through on 999 rather than me blocking it up.

I drove on to Sophie's where I was to get changed for a Business Dinner later that night. We talked about what I had seen and she pointed out that I could be an important witness in any future legal proceedings. That had already gone through my mind. Sophie's a lawyer too.

I didn't stay long as I was expected at the RNLI fundraiser a little after 7 and Sophie had been summoned by Martian who had made a pot of chilli and was anxious to share it. It was only as I was driving home much later that night that the realisation hit me. Martian had made the chilli on Tuesday in readiness for a dinner party that he was hosting last night, Friday, 4 days later. His pan is huge, rather like the ones used in school canteens. His fridge is invariably full of geriatric salmon, fossilised salami and limp salad. It was unlikely there was any room in it for a vast vat so it had probably sat on the hob for the best part of the week, dipped into occasionally by a grazing Martian, keen to sample his culinary creation and wonder at his incredible domestic abilities and heated up every night.

I must call and check that the evening went well and no guests keeled over. I would hate to be that key witness to Aiding and Abetting Death By Recklessly Enthusiastic Cooking, Cooking Without Due Care and Attention or BonHommicide.