Here’s something to put the wind up some of my readers. I’m getting reports from the farming community that they’re having a bumper crop of Brussels sprouts.
What’s more, sprouts this winter are unusually large. Enough to set shoppers gassing at the tills.
Something of a prize vegetable myself, I positively love Brussels, well cooked but preferably on the crisp side. My seasonal steak pie simply wouldn’t be the same without them. The classic green among the veggies. Beats even another of the aromatics in the species (have no fear, Blumenthal, your job’s safe).
Warning enough for my colleagues to steer clear of me these next few weeks.
Waste of space
She should ken by now. Few among the telly totty are as insufferably boring. Patsy Kensit’s now blabbing: “I’m washing my hair again, I must be feeling better . . . If you’re in love with someone maybe you can show it too much.
“I’ve always been in relationships where there’s been separation . . . I’m happy to be at home in my flannel pyjamas.”
Yes, Patsy, but does anybody care? So why this waste of space, John? Desperate for a filler, I confess.
By the way, I always felt better when I had hair to wash.
Jock it in, folks
Good on yer, Jock! An employment tribunal has been listening to a Glaswegian slaughterman suing his employer for racial discrimination by his colleagues in Launceston, Cornwall.
Among the taunts “caber tosser”, not to mention the abbreviated version.
Who gives a toss, you may well ask.