Reading some of these, I don’t know whether to take my virtual hat off to you guys, or sympathise with your stomachs, arteries and waistbands.
I’m not a big eater, and I’ll only eat when I’m hungry, it’s never been a case of, “Oh it’s midday, better go for lunch.”
The only excess that springs to mind, is a time that I invited the brother of the woman that I eventually married, along with his wife, out for dinner with us.
He was so tight, that he squeaked, his idea of fine dining was Nando’s, or any place that had pictures of the meals on the menu.
Eventually I manoeuvred him into a French restaurant at Islington Green, where just to wind him up, I ordered a dozen escargots in garlic butter as an entrée.
He watched aghast as I ploughed through them, asking his sister how she could think of marrying a guy that ate snails, so I called the waiter over, cancelled my main course and ordered another dozen escargots.
Hardly a gut buster, but his face made it all worthwhile.
