These days, nut roasts and butternut squash wellingtons are good enough to tempt carnivores
I once had a friend – and I use the past tense conspicuously – who, when I suggested a walk and a pub Sunday roast, told me she didn’t like Sunday roasts. Did not like Sunday roasts. I don’t know the specific medical terminology for this pathology, but I hope she is getting the help she needs. I imagine so, because the waiting list must be very short.
I’m never happier than when diving into a moat of gravy. If it were possible, I would shrink myself and jump merrily into the middle of a giant, squishy yorkshire pudding, like a kid on a bouncy castle.
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