“The sport might-a be expensive, but the game is cheap! Five-a pounds for a brace of pheasant, you can’t-a get a chicken for that!” shouts Italian chef Gennaro Contaldo, long-time mentor of Jamie Oliver and third-generation “hunter” of pheasants.…
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One of my earliest memories was of the Kibworth fish van. We lived on the corner of Main Street in a little house called the Old Bakehouse. And every Friday, a blue fish van pulled up in front of Granny Peg’s across the road. She wasn’t an actual Granny – but a nice old lady whose budgerigar loved cuttlefish. On the odd occasion that I went to the seaside (Leicester isn’t really close), then I’d scour the beach for cuttlefish, and remember presenting them to Granny Peg with great pride.…
On Thursday evening Natalie invited me round for supper.
Just to keep you up to date, I shall from now onwards refer to her as Dr Durkin – firstly, because Dr Durkin is a more comic name than Natalie. And secondly, because this is now her real title….
I never thought that I was that girl who got ludicrously excited about summer holidays.
The sort of excitement where you lie out all your clothes on the bed a week before you leave, and draw up a militant list of pedicures, waxes and tans. You line up you travel shampoos next to the travel toothpaste, and a meticulously packed travel wallet, and then leap out of bed at 5am on the morning of departure like the Boots advert women….