Wilson is dealing with his separation anxiety by comfort eating Belgian Buns.
In spite of their inherent richness, he prepares them in the way his Mum, Mrs Vermilingua, taught him: he cuts the bun in half and covers each piece in slices of butter.
I wonder what they call Belgian Buns in Belgium? Or French Fancies in France? Or Brussels Sprouts in Brussels? Or… well, I expect you get the picture.
TT’s joke for today is:
“A dyslexic man walked into a bra…”
Which at least has the benefit of brevity.
No comments:
Post a Comment