Geoffrey and I have been arguing over which special comestibles to get in over the Festive.
As long-term readers will know, the "Big Day" Hereabouts is the Solstice rather than December 25th which we see as mere southern jiggerypokery and up-their-ain-bumness.
Yes, we celebrate the sun's nadir and the total dearth of sunlight and warmth and cheer with as much glee as we can muster - which isn't that much if I'm totally honest.
Geoffrey reckons we should try to obtain some "Black Bun".
"I really fancy a slice of Black Bun," he said. He sounded enthusiastic enough but I could still sense an element of doubt in his tone.
"I haven't laid eyes on a Black Bun since 1978," I countered. "And I can't say I'm all that sorry. As I remember, I burst a filling on the last slice I attempted. It seemed to be full of low grade gravel. And it tasted like something that came out of a dog's behind. So I can't see the attraction, quite frankly."
"I don't care," he pouted." I'm going out to search for some right now."
"Knock yourself out," I said, reaching for my pipe. "I'll keep an eye on your online Heartache Removal Service till you get back..."
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