If I was on masterchef my speciality dish would be french bread from our local village baker with some butter on it. I would call my dish Pain et Beurre Thermidor. If I didn't win with this dish I would sleep with John Torode as that seems to be the way to victory – I'm looking at you, Lisa Faulkner. Justice for Dick Strawbridge. We haven't forgotten.
The French have their own version of
masterchef. They have one contestant on it called Betty who refuses to
cook anything and stands in the corner crying. For several weeks
everyone was too scared to tell her she was out of the competition so
she carried on turning up.
I could live on french bread and butter. I know this because I am living on french bread and butter. But where are you getting the nutrients from? I hear you ask. Simple - Nutregena shampoo.
you go to the bakery in France everyone says hello to you when you walk
in - the customers and the bakers. And when someone else comes in you
all have to say hello to them. The first time I walked unsuspecting into
a full french bakery the chorus of bonjours was so loud I
thought Rose had arranged a surprise party for me. I went round hugging elderly french women and pawing great lumps out of the cakes in the display cabinets with my hands. Not allowed back
It makes perfect sense to say hello - why
wouldn't you say hello to people? Unless they are Londoners of course.
One word to a Londoner in public and the next thing you know you're
phone's been stolen, your online identity's been cloned and everyone you know
has received an email from your account trying to sell them breast implants and natural viagra pills made from seahorse penis. What do you mean I sent that email before my phone was stolen?
On a separate note please send me some seahorses as I like them as pets and absolutely won't powder their bits to make sex pills.
Do seahorses have bits? Genuinely can't be bothered to google it.