Baked beans on toast. With sausages*. It's not a case of not learning (though that is so often the case), haricot beans don't make me toot like a brass band on amphetamines. There's a distinct division of the beans. Kidney beans? Break out the devil's trombone. Lentils, the entire bloody symphonic overture. There's something deeply wrong in the orchestra pit, dear. Run, run, darling, the orchestra are revolting. Haricot? nothing to trouble Mr Beaufort. Wouldn't even ruffle his hair.
I don't get to eat baked beans normally unless I go to a proper greasy cafe as my wife doesn't like them (she doesn't eat the colour red). I don't know how one woman can be so wrong about everything and yet still marry me.
*unreal sausages made out of vegetables, pigs are too cute to eat, unless they're baconized and I still have a quandary. Every time I try to bite into a bacon butty I just picture a pig raising its eyebrows and saying really, I mean REALLY? I just hate being guilt-tripped by imaginary talking animals.
