Purveyor of Bollocks to the Crowned Heads of Europe
Friday, 24 October 2014
Guest post, guess who?
What we call decent breakfast in my part of the world, NOT some lefty nonsense involving hummus or seaweed.
I didn't have to pay 35 Euros per kilo for those mushrooms, I picked them myself THIS MORNING. 5 o'clock this morning, in fact.
Every time I go back to Brighton I time it for the annual Baked Bean Festival there, because you just CANNOT get a decent baked bean anywhere in France, so I fill the Compact Royce with them. Lady Magnon isn't too happy about being squeezed in the back with five boxes of the things, but - like I say - finding a baked bean worth the name in France is like trying to buy a flat-packed wheelbarrow in Blighty - it CAN'T be done. You have to buy the wheelbarrow in one piece then disassemble it just to put it in the car. Even then you find that there isn't enough room for both it and the beans, so Lady Magnon has to take the train back.
What am I going to do with all these quinces?
(What fun! Don't hurry back, Darling Tom - we are going to do Rachel next!)