Excerpt
This particular village only has the one pub that does food, The Anaemic Weasel. We found a seat which wasn't too difficult as most of the locals already knew what was on the menu and ordered our drinks. "Evrythin's orf bar the special of the day maisters", announced our waiter/ potboy/ chef probably. "And what's today's special?”, I asked innocently. "Stuffed pheasant, maister", he responded. "Fine", said I, "Four portions please, one without potatoes". I did that out of compassion for John's diet. The drinks arrived and we set to talking pleasantly and wondering why the bar was so empty. The weather wasn‟t great so we had expected more people to take shelter in there. The meal arrived and the reason for the lack of business became more apparent. The bird still bore the imprint of the wall it had flown into yesterday trying to evade Lady Julia's driving. At least I knew who'd been in the car behind now. I was tempted to ask for a discount for being with the supplier. However, we ate lunch after the usual swapsies. Julia got my veg and I her potatoes. After all, I had my diet to think of and couldn't eat the veg as well.