Danda on the Taj Mahal:
“Shite. Really, really disappointing. Right in the middle of nowhere.”

Danda on the Golden Temple in Amritsar:
“Fabulous. Great day out. Best place we went in India.”

Danda on Mumbai/Bombay:
“Second favourite place on my Indian Odyssey. And we won the Test Series.” (Cricket-speak, I’m guessing.)

Danda on going to a test match in Mumbai/Bombay:
“Indians really love their cricket. It’s more like a religion than a sport. It was noisier than the FA cup final. It was 40 degrees and the humidity was off the scale. Really really enjoyed it, especially as we drew the game to win the series.”

Danda on the pyramids:
“Best thing I’ve ever seen.”

Danda on going down into the pyramids:
“Nope! Wouldn’t go! It wasn’t cause I was frightened. It’s just that I… I’ll go tomorrow… Next time.”

Danda on the Caribbean:
“Fabulous beaches. Uh. What else can you say about the Caribbean? I wouldn’t recommend the cuisine. Unless you like chicken, rice and peas. Great cricket grounds! Fav island = Antigua. Lovely people.”

Danda on Rome:
“The Eternal City. Wonderful place. Wonderful. Wonderful. Wonderful. And Laura took me there for my birthday.”

Laura on the Philippines:
“Unbelievably idyllic. Gorgeous, like a brochure. Luscious, green, sunny, pale beaches. I think I’ll retire there one day.”

Danda on Florida:
“Best place in the world for a fun vacation.”

Danda on Niagara Falls:
“Awesome!”

Laura on Niagara Falls:
“I have photos of me looking grumpy there. Not any prevalent actual memories. Just some grumpy photos.”

Danda on Bangkok’s red light district:
*pulls a face* “Uh. Yeh. Alright for a laugh. Not very tempting but good for a laugh.”

Laura on Bangkok’s red light district:
“Where else in the world can you find clubs unashamedly blazoned with the name Superpussy?”

Danda on Amsterdam’s red light district:
“I was drinking at the time. Good place to go for a drink. But, like any red light district, you’ve got to go with the right people. People that are game for a laugh and aren’t easily offended.”

Danda on the Inca Trail:
“A beautiful experience. That’s all I can say.”

Laura on trekking the Great Wall of China:
“Epic. Jam dropping scenery. I swear Mordor was based on this place. The Chinese are the friendliest people I’ve met.”

Danda on Paris:
“I’ve been ten times probably. Good place to take a bird. Specially if her name’s Laura.”

Danda on Germany:
“Wonderful place. Great people. Great country.”

Danda on the south of France:
“Wonderful, wonderful place. I love France. Cannes and Nice are fabulous places.”

Danda on Italy:
“La Dolce Vita.”

Danda on the Algarve:
“If the weather’s good, it’s a good place to go. Golf is prohibitively expensive!”

Danda on Sri Lanka:
“Really interesting place. And the hottest place I’ve ever been! And we won the Test Series.” (I think this is cricket-speak too.)

Danda on Spain:
“Love Spain. Love the Spanish way of life.”

Danda on London:
“Best city in the world by far. And I’m not just saying that because I’m a London cab driver.”

womenanddogsex
the stiles woolton liverpool past
polpo cookbook pork meatballs
joni mitchell anorexia
pyroclastic flow stone people
george michael highgate address
dogs on wells and walsingham light railway
is woolton a nice area
george michael address hampstead
chatsby or gatsby
famous five wrapping paper
highgate history the grove
george michael no 6 highgate
mick fleetwood brother in law
17th century nosegays
put the little girl said to me
theft unlawful act
graham lockey
transvestites in wellies
a day in the life of a detective
things i learn watching lincoln
short termsposts in tourism
biggest tits in kingston uni
where to buy truffle salt in paris
boobs hangers
ham house santolina
strawberry field salvation army
how do i drown out the flavour of chilli
lazy 38st
old age hobbies
aggravated burglary r v klass
liverpool edge hill 1960 streets
“waltham place” gate
george michael house highgate
lion salt works blog
friday street waterfall
robinson helicoptergarage
buy truffle oil
lazylauramaisey
fig and cantuccini semifreddo
can anyone put a boat on the river Thames
baobob bookshop
passed driving test but not confident
i always say everything twice
richmond park deaths
boobs on the loose
free lectures on freehold covenants
maneiacs woolton
rene redzepi
george michael the grove highgate
kate moss highgate
curator weaver hall museum
lesley duncan sing children 
z to a alphabet
henry family crest
defence of the realm shooting pigeon
kingston university is crap
george michael highgate
pyroclastic flow death
weve only just begun sung
remember the good old days
how many hours a day did a scullery maid work
laura maisey
james bond stiff upper lip
i would love to be a scullery maid
st peters church woolton
theft burglary murder
kingston university is bad rubbish
pj and duncan the backstreet boys
ode to my tooth
pgce withdraw where next
fold up bike on grass
what shape is a dairylea triangle
the grove highgate
rubbish acronyms
dusty springfield the road to nowhere
beechams is keeping me awake

O, how exciting, I thought to myself. Hundreds of teeny tiny worms, all my own.

I felt like a proud mother. “The worms arrived,” I would tell people. “They’re doing really well in school (the mud).”

Mistakenly, as described in K is for…., I thought I had ordered a home for the worms. I had not. So the worms were put in a big saucepan to live until I could work out what to do. “Worms,” I was told in my worm blurb, “do not like sunlight and will automatically burrow down into the mud.”

Brilliant, I thought, I don’t need to worry about them. They will just burrow down.

Then the evening drew in and the natural light faded. And this is when the other part of the worm blurb, which I had not read, became relevant. “Worms,” this section read, “are naturally inquisitive and like to explore.”

Ah…

This is a problem….

After an evening out seeing friends, I got in quite late. It was probably after midnight.

Let me check my babies are ok, I thought to myself, smiling happily at my new status as full time mother. I opened the door to the little back porch type area where I had left them.

They.

Were.

EVERYWHERE.

And when I say everywhere, I mean everywhere. I switched on the main kitchen light and saw them crawling all over the kitchen floor! A good portion had made off in the opposite direction for the outside world but in their rush to get out had, stupidly, all mashed into a little hole at once and become stuck. I couldn’t get a hold on any of them and they couldn’t move (they are still there as it is impossible to get into).

Infuriated, I gave them a real telling off whilst gathering them up.

“You were supposed to burrow, you idiots, not climb out!” I raged, stomping around in the garden with a torch, picking them up off the path before they wriggled away into the cracks between the paving stones.

I think I lost quite a lot of my children that evening.

So I put all the ones back that I could find and put foil over the top of the saucepan to stop them escaping.

When I woke up in the morning to go to work, at about 6.20am, I went downstairs, rubbing my weary eyes and going to the kettle to make tea. And of course there were worms everywhere! Of course there were. I wouldn’t expect anything less. Impatient little things. I was ordering a home for them that day. But they just had to go running off, didn’t they?!

So there I was, at 6.20am, pre-morning tea, picking worms up from off my kitchen floor. I opened the little door and looked at what had happened. They had simply been too excited to stay still and had pushed little grooves in the foil to squirm out from underneath it.

“Right! That’s it! I’m getting the clingfilm out!” I told them sternly. And sure enough, over went the clingfilm. “You can’t escape this.”

In conversation with Danda later that day, he said, “You can’t put clingfilm over! They won’t be able to breathe.”

Ah. Right. Ok. Sure. I see.

Panic! The shift couldn’t end soon enough that day and I ran home, terrified there’d be a massacre and I’d be the one with blood on my hands. There was condensation on the clingfilm and the worms were barely moving! I tore it off and poked a few.

“Come on come on come on! Please be fine. Please be fine. I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry. I forgot you needed to breathe, little worms! Come on, move!” After some poking and gently squeezing to resuscitate them, they started moving again, rather sluggishly. I brought them into the kitchen under the light and waited to see if they would burrow.

They did, thank god!

I then moved them into a massive bin and clingfilmed the top but poked loads of holes into it and left them in the kitchen overnight with the light on, as that was the only guaranteed way to keep them in the soil and not trying to make a run for it.

Their home arrived the next day so they were immediately transferred into it and have been there ever since. Apparently it takes a few months for my first lot of compost to be ready and mine’s not even been going a month so I’ve got a little wait before those naughty schoolchildren can prove to me that they’ve grown up to be contributing members of society.

They just chill down by the shed at the moment. I give them egg shells and vegetable peelings and they hide so I’ve not seen hardly any of them and am unsure if they’ve all died actually. But I faithfully put my vegetable peelings down there and hope for the best

P.S. I picked up the mop a few days ago to do the kitchen floor and three worms fell out!

1. The time a friend flipped his car and was all stressed that the police would get him so ran off into the sand dunes. We had heard about it and been given a lift to where he was. We also ran off into the desert and were covering his white shirt with Lucy’s long skirt, to avoid him being seen by a helicopter….! When one has consumed much alcohol, this seems to make perfect sense, that in a place where there is no ambulance service, they would be sending a helicopter out in the night to catch a man who had flipped his car. He was quite shaken so in my 18 year old mind, I decided the best way to be supportive was to declare my love for him. (I didn’t love him at all. I’m not even sure what made me say it.)

2. The time Lucy and I got in a car with a total random who drove us to Cape Town and, right before the border, while stopped at a petrol station, both went to the toilet at the same time. We suddenly realised what we’d done and rushed outside. Thankfully he hadn’t driven off with our stuff.

3. The time our friend, Ramon, came over and we made up a story about a purple fairy who lived in the garden called Finesse, then went down to the tree and started calling out to her.

4. The time another of the gap year volunteers went off with some random guy after two days in Cape Town, then came back one day, told us his name was Rudolph and he’d asked her to marry him and she’d said yes! (She didn’t end up staying and marrying him, much to the annoyance of the other girl at her project, who had to deal with her for the next year.)

5. The time I tried to climb up on the ledge round the house to look in the bathroom window, where Lucy had locked herself and fallen asleep after a night out. My arms and legs couldn’t handle the exertion of the climb so I just let go and fell straight backwards on to the ground. I’m surprised I survived that fall, actually.

6. All the times we ate plates of rice and faux dumpling-things or the peanut butter sandwiches the kids used to make as part of their activities at school, cause we couldn’t afford anything else! A box of Frosties was BIG news in our house! We only bought those when we’d just been paid and were feeling really flash with our money.

So what’s going to happen is this. I’m going to show you a collection of photos which don’t really mean an awful lot to anyone and were picked in a hurry. Are you up for that? Ok, let’s do it.

First up, it’s a dinosaur drinking from a glass….

Second, we have a quote from a magazine that I’m sharing with you because I feel it is important.

I’ve always felt the same way about free standing cupboards actually.

Next is a really old recipe with the original spelling of the word ‘apricot’ which made me giggle. Rather like a small child.

Next up, a Christmas tree made of chocolate slabs. Obviously. (I did say it wouldn’t really mean anything, didn’t I?)

And now, some tomatoes in my garden.

And finally, to see off this fabulous, well-thought-out, life-changing, awesome post, a photo of me with some clingfilm stretched over my face.

O wait, one last one, Yaya with an egg box on his face.

I mentioned in last week’s post (8.5.13) our Bank Holiday day out and about all the traffic (which did happen) and the usual expected bad weather (which did not). Where were we going? Well it was to a well – St Winefride’s Well to be precise. (Note here, you were probably expecting to see it spelled St. Winifred’s which is how most people would write it but the site itself, and a number of other sources, use the spelling in my title.) Someone had organised a walk and there were going to be about 8 of us all together.

We got going fairly handily and managed to beat the worst of the outgoing traffic. The well is in Greenfield about half a mile NE of Holywell (pronounced Holly-well) in North Wales. We pulled into the car park right opposite the Well entrance and then one of my passengers (navigator?) said, “I don’t think we’re meeting with the others here. There’s another car park lower down”. Ok, so off we go and yes, about half way down the hill towards the coast, is another car park. We pulled in. We waited. My passenger direction-giver meditated for a few minutes: “What’s the road number of this road we’ve just turned off?”

“It didn’t look like it had one. It’s only like a very minor one,” I ventured.

“Oh well this isn’t right either!” came the reply. Off we went again further down the hill until we came to the A548 coast road and after turning right we came to car park no.3. “Ooh, there they are”, said my navigator. Then I had to listen while our tale of woe, regarding locating the correct car park, which was somehow down to me of course, was related to the expedition leader. He was standing in his walking gear with the OS map neatly folded in a plastic carrying case on a string round his neck and one of his local history info books in his hand. I hadn’t realised it was like a proper organised walk and thought we were just doing a stroll around the Well itself. Oh well, at least I could relax while someone else did the map/path reading. I’d be the bandit & wild animal look-out covering the rear of the column as we set out on a narrow steeply-angled path out of the car park. It was at this point I realised that when we had driven past the Well we had come quite a long way DOWNHILL! That meant walking would be taking us a fair way UPHILL and me with no oxygen or sub-zero outwear! I was somewhat amazed when, shortly after we started our climb, a guy went past us holding those Arctic ski pole things the professionals use to aid in walking (or skiing) in difficult areas. How hard could this be I wondered? It’s North Wales I thought, not the ascent to camp 4 on the north face of Everest. I couldn’t resist a chuckle seeing him walk past two ladies in their summery clothes pushing prams with little ones in! Bizarre – what’s wrong with this picture sprang to mind?

So on to our walk. The first place of interest on the journey up was the ruins of Basingwerk Abbey.

It is completely open to the public and as you can see from my pic many were sitting among the ruins on the grass enjoying the sunshine. We stopped and had our sandwiches here as it was around lunch time.

The abbey had been founded in 1132 by a local earl who brought Benedictine monks from Normandy. Just 66 years prior to this of course those pesky Normans had come over 1066 and beaten King Harold II in 1066. (Sadly, Harold had only been in the king job for 9 months!) That was probably one of the reasons why French monks ended up here. The abbey later became part of the Cistercian order and passed through a couple more changes before ending up under the control of Llywelyn the Great in the 13^th century. He was a Prince of Gwynedd which is an area of North Wales. His son Dafydd ap Llywelyn then gave St Winefride’s Well to the abbey.

So, who was St. Winefride? The story goes back hundreds of years even before the Norman Conquest. It is, of course, being over 1300 years old, inevitably bound up in legend but it goes something like this – In around AD 660 a man called Caradoc wanted to date Winefride but she wasn’t interested. He tried and tried but she rejected him. As can happen in these situations Caradog “took the huff” and shortly after took matters into his own hands and came and chopped off Winefride’s head (as you do). Her uncle was called St Beuno and he prayed that she would survive and she did. The re-attaching of her head was a miracle and thereafter the Well became a place of pilgrimage and has remained so to this day. After surviving, Winefride lived as a nun for the next 22 years. The identity of Caradoc is something of a mystery as the name was fairly common around this time but the legend says he was the son of a local prince. Presumably he was used to getting his own way and her rejection was not something he would take lightly. (There is a Caradoc mentioned as being one of the knights at King Arthur’s Round Table but it’s not clear this was the same man.)

When Henry VIII “dissolved” the monasteries in 1536 Basingwerk Abbey was closed. Parts of its structure though were taken to other buildings: the monks’ stalls to Chester, the roof went to two other churches, some of the lead was taken to repair Holt Castle, and one window went to the parish church of St Dyfnog, 18 miles inland, in a small village with a long name – Llanrhaeadr-yng-Nghinmeirch. (The church there was founded in the 6^th century.) Why was the window special? It was called the Tree of Jesse window and showed the ancestors of Jesus starting with King David’s father, Jesse of Bethlehem.

A little way past the abbey ruins is the visitor centre. In the next pic, check out the line above where it says Opening Hours (so 4^th line up on the English part). How about that?

We didn’t go in but carried on up the hill. We were soon on to a more path-like route and came to these gates. There was no info at this point to say what they may have been gates to. I could only presume they were possibly for one of the mills situated along the valley although being on two separate paths was a bit of a mystery.

Then it was past what had been an old flour mill.

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And then a really nice lake. If you look closely you can just about read the old wooden sign – Flour Mill Pool. Not too hard to guess how it got its name!

There were remains of at least a couple of mills on our route which all had harnessed the power from the nearby stream generated by water wheels. Next along were the ruins of Meadow Mill which was used to produce copper sheets.

Clearly entrepreneurs during The Industrial Revolution saw the potential of the water flowing down this hillside as is evidenced by the variety of businesses that were created here: flour, copper, wire, cotton and a battery factory which also used water to power their machinery. Sadly though, by the 1960s all had closed.

Then it was more paths and more climbing (=walking as opposed to throwing grappling hooks and pulling ourselves up) uphill. And so we arrived at our destination – The Well. Now this is not as you might be thinking a hole in the ground surrounded by a circular wall of stones with a little roof on over a horizontal bar with a winding handle with a rope and a bucket. No, this is serious architecture of massive proportions. Here’s a pic

Just to the right you can see part of a yellow structure – this is one of the changing tents for those who wish to bathe in the water. (Nobody did while we were there.) There is also the usual gift shop and loads of story boards to read with info about the place inside the entrance building.

Then it was a case of re-tracing our steps back down the hill to get a cup of tea/coffee and/or ice cream. It was a Bank Holiday so we expected a big queue but it wasn’t too bad. We joined the queue and noticed ahead there seemed to be two destination points: one for the tea/coffee/cakes stuff and one for the ice cream stall. We checked what people were queuing for so we didn’t jump in front. Lady in front of me says she’s waiting for ice cream so I stood behind. Once the 3 others had been served I get to the ice cream counter and ask for my choice. “You need a ticket”, the lady says.

Me: “Where do I get that?”

Lady: “Over there at the other counter.”

Me: “Where those people are queuing?”

And of course it is. I wanted to ask why there’s no sign to say get a ticket first before you come to this counter but I don’t suppose there would have been a reason to satisfy me so I let it pass. I join the other queue for tea/cakes/coffee in order to get a ticket (and pay of course as there was no till at the ice cream counter) to go back and join the first queue for my ice-cream! Hey-ho.

I got my ice-cream and went outside to join the rest of the group. Despite the crowds, they had managed to get a table and had their order ticket for their hot drinks. I finished my ice-cream and they were still waiting. A waitress comes out and shouts, “35”. No-one answers. “2 coffees and 2 teas”, she says. One of our group puts up her hand. “Your ticket says 41”, waitress says but it’s probably ok. She starts to put the cups on the table when someone else comes rushing over – they’re waving their ticket with of course 35 on. She puts the cups back on the tray, apologises and off she goes. The hot drinks members of our group are soon spitting feathers. Eventually a tray arrives at our table and waitress apologises for the wait saying sometimes they just give random numbers out on the orders. Really?

We make our way down the last part of the hill back to the car park. The weather had held and we’d had an enjoyable walk and a bit of history. Our expedition leader said there was another thing, a bit further along the road near Mostyn, we could go and see but you’ll have to wait til next week for episode 2 of the Bank Holiday day out. 

First I must tell you 11 facts about myself so here goes:

1. When it comes to chocolate, I always go dark.

2. I’m currently reading about five million books.

3. I recently went foraging (twice) and now feel myself to be some sort of foraging expert, known to the world as Madame Forager.

4. I own tons of cookbooks.

5. I think tomatoes are brilliant.

6. In my other life, I would have been a farmer with lemon groves and olive trees in Tuscany.

7. I love a good programme about hoarding. Love it. It makes me not worry about my rough-around-the-edges front room.

8. I also love a good animal-attack programme. I Was Bitten was a particular favourite.

9. I’m rubbish at buying shoes for myself. I’m too lazy to put any thought into it so they’re always slightly wrong, somehow.

10. Reality talent shows depress me.

11. My brother’s friend had two cats called Phoebe and Katy, which I thought was way cool when I was younger.

Next I answer 11 questions posed to me by Mark.

1. What is your earliest lingering memory?
Shouting “Amy!” while standing on top of a little grassy hill at infant school.

2. Is there a person from History you admire more than any other and if so, why do you admire them?
He’s not that historical because he’s still alive but his name is Clive Stafford Smith and he’s fabulous. Google him.

3. Do you have a hobby that is unrelated to your work? And if so, what is it?
I volunteer at Ham House. It’s great fun. More fun than anything I’ve done in ages.

4. How many houses have you lived in, including your current?
Seven.

5. How do you think you might fair on University Challenge?
O man. Pretty badly. I try doing it every so often and I’m abysmal. Which always confuses me. I’m certain I’ll get more than three but I never do.

6. Is there another time in History you’d like to live ? When would it be and why?
The Romans were fascinating. I love Roman history. It’s a different question of whether I would have actually wanted to live then! There’s plenty of things about how we live now that make me think I’m happiest being in the here and now.
7. How long do you spend on the net per day?
I check my emails on my phone but I very rarely sit down and use the internet as such. Probably only once or twice a week for about twenty minutes each.

8. If you could run your country, what would be the first act of your Premiership?
Um. Processed food is banned. Additives are outlawed. People must be nice to each other.

9. Do you have a favourite record? If so, which is it?
Anything MJ. Possibly Man In The Mirror. But I’m in a very James Blake place right now.

10. Who has been the biggest influence on your life so far?
Hard to say.

11. Why do you blog?
To have something that is my own and to inject creativity into my every day.

The next section of the Leibster Award, I’m going to cheat on a bit because I love the blogs I read regularly and have put them up for awards a ton of times. So I’m just going to draw your attention to my favourites, which you should all check out and if the nominees want to get in on the Leibster action, you can use the same questions from above.

Biancalovefoodlovefashion

Someone Fat Happened

The Waiting

Kindredspirit23

As Time Goes… Buy

Fiammisday

The Usual Bliss

Ordinary Lisa

Outside Air

Hungryhinny

Thebettermanproject

“We are the boys and girls well known as the minors of the A! B! C!
And every Saturday all line up,
To watch the films we love and shout aloud with glee!
We like to laugh and have a singsong,
Just a happy crowd are we,
We’re all pals together,
The minors of the A! B! C!”

When not engaging in this fellow cinema-goer love, Danda spent a significant portion of his childhood sneaking in to the cinema by the side door.

The stories are plenty. There was the time when their friend went to the toilet during the film and found the box with the main electrics. Inevitably, he needed to test it so he turned everything off then on again before returning to his seat and asking Danda and co if anything had happened. They said that the whole cinema had been plunged into darkness and the film had gone off. The friend thought this was the funniest thing he had ever heard so got ready to make another trip for some mischief-making.

Unfortunately for him, the first blackout had alerted the cinema staff to the presence of a group of young boys who had not paid to get in. In came one of the staff with a policeman (they were pretty unoccupied in those days) to get those naughty boys.

The naughty boys, however, had noticed the arrival of the policeman and hotfooted it out via the fire escape. Conveniently enough (some might say it had been planned ahead), a bucket of water was on hand and while closing the door behind them, the bucket was left balancing precariously on the top.

They retreated to a safe distance and watched. The policeman charged through the door, followed by the cinema staff member, both of whom got drenched as the bucket fell. The boys laughed and laughed! In the confusion which followed they ran as fast as their little legs would take them, out of the cinema and off to a good hiding place.

There was the time they got bored during the film and went for a wander and ended up on the roof of the cinema.

There was the time they sneaked in to the box and worked out how to turn the film off.

Ah, the joyful exuberance of youth!

Then last night, we went to see The Rocky Horror Show and my mind was blown. I didn’t really have a clue what was going on but it didn’t seem to matter. There was much wooping and dancing. I do like a good woop. Every time one of the characters said something, a group of dedicated Rocky Horror fans up the front yelled something and then everyone laughed.

The best example of this was when Brad and Janet knocked on the door of the house to ask if they could use the phone and the butler guy said something like, “Well, you’d better…”

And out of the blue, a large section of the audience yelled, “FUCK OFF!”

Clearly, there was a lot of fun being had and I do think it is important to remember to have fun so I have made the following theatre-based manifesto for my life….

If ever I feel something is wrong, “I’ll start with the (wo)man in the mirror” but, more importantly, whilst doing so, I will always “jump to the left before I step to the riiiiiiight.” That part is important. The good thing is that “I’m gonna make a change” and “it’s gonna feel real good.” But while thinking about what’s wrong, I realised that “maybe the rain isn’t really to blame” and maybe the problem is that I’m a “sweet transvestite from Transylvania.” You can see how that would be a problem, right? People say, “I’m bad, I’m bad, you know it,” but I haven’t got time for that nonsense. Because I know what to do when things get tough. I’ll remember not to “get flustered, use a bit of mustard.” Great advice.

Well, that’s me sorted. I was getting all bothered about what to do but the theatre this week has sorted that all out.

And before I go, a little word on MJ and his song “Liberian Girl,” which I love. I definitely thought it was called “Librarian Girl” when I was younger. And I think that’s why I loved it. And loved Michael Jackson. I knew he recognised the importance of books and what a fabulous job librarians do.

On that note, I’m off. Enjoy your Sunday…..

And look….

And look…

Yes, Mr Michelin, I made that. And no, your eyes are not deceiving you. That is homemade walnut and honey semifreddo you can see on the far right there. It’s all homemade, Mr Michelin. Including the cantuccini.

You want more? I got more.

And more…

All homemade. Even the pasta.

Now, Michel Roux and Rene Redzepi, because I know you’re both reading, it’s no good pretending you don’t, could you two sort this thing out for me. I honestly don’t get what’s taking so long.

Rene, I’m right up your street. I’d fit in perfectly at Noma. Did I tell you I foraged some nettles the other day?! Yeh. You see? That’s changed your mind, hasn’t it? I even bought a book about foraging today. A book, that’s right! Shit just got serious.

Now go get this thing sorted, people! I’ll keep an eye on the post.

Thanks, guys.