It was a French restaurant in Lancaster, well the maître d' at least was French, a small woman who lavished her attention and smiles on me when explaining that 'chicken leaver' was a special, I thought that gets the missus back for that greasy Italian waiter who ignored me in Preston. That's how I saw it at least. The food was very nice and my wife looked beautiful, she also very kindly booked a table for my birthday in a few weeks.
|Yes, the oysters were delicious.|
|Three little fishes?|
|Yes, I did it!|
And lastly of course why on earth did the Turks shoot down a Russian jet? A jet that wandered over a sticky out part of their godforsaken land for seventeen seconds, I don't want to glow in the dark because the Turks are trigger happy and stupid. Couldn't they just have sent Putin a stern email?