Purveyor of Bollocks to the Crowned Heads of Europe
Thursday, 7 March 2013
Lucky for some
13 oysters - a Baker's Dozen - reduced in the supermarket for reasons only know to the fish counter manager.
He whispers to me, in a thick, Eastern European accent:
"Thirteen, my friend. Twelve are perfectly fine, but the thirteenth is going to poison you so badly, that I doubt if I will ever see you here again. What you have to do is make sure you don't eat the thirteenth oyster."
With that, he slips away behind the door to the cold store.
I begin counting, but lose track of where I started.