Luckily I had some leftovers in the fridge to eat for dinner. It's rare for a sausage to be leftover in our house but I'd blatantly lied to G about the number of sausages we owned just in case a situation like this came up. Well played I say, though do acknowledge I've ruined any hope of future sibling trust. In my defence, G (rightly!) hides alcohol and cured meats from me all the time.
The sausage was better the next day, the potato much much worse.
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