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So we decide to have tea (the meal, not the beverage) at a cafe Uncle B calls Salmonella on Sea, on account of it is down by the water and the authorities occasionally take a legal interest in their kitchen hygiene. But it’s tasty, relatively cheap and open until four (aside: there is a frustrating black hole in the afternoon during which you cannot buy cooked food in the UK. Lunch places are open until three-ish, supper places don’t open until six-ish, and between you can starve. Or hit Mickey D’s, one of which we have not got).

So I was tucking into my ptomaineburger and fries, and Uncle B was reaching over to nick some chips, when he made the shush face.

The man at the next table said, “no, it was definitely a stoat. Bigger than a weasel.”

“Yes,” a woman trilled, “and it was running around all night, stealing the chips right off people’s plates.”

I’ll never live it down.

January 26, 2009 — 7:44 pm
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