h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

There is a family tradition which involves a fondness for treacle tarts. It reached its zenith (or nadir if you were the cook) when my Mum decided to make a treacle tart for a big birthday party she was throwing my Dad. She lovingly made the tart and little pastry letters spelling out 'Happy Birthday Richard', which she laid on top. She then put it in the oven.

The treacle mixture warmed and due to the wonder of physics became less viscous then it had once been. When it was taken out of the oven, the letters had rearranged themselves into a new and utterly unpronouncable message. A few years later they separated - my parents that is, not the pastry letters.

I don't think it was connected, my Dad is not that petty, but perhaps the first event was a sad divination of the second. Anyway this is by the by.

As has been the case for at least the last thirty years, I have once again managed to say what is undeniable true, but definitely best kept to myself.

You really think I would learn. It's not as if I have an unblemished record on this particular subject. In fact I seem to do it rather a lot. Then I spend days and days regretting it, but secretly knowing that I will do it again and probably sooner then I think.

In an attempt to make myself feel better, I took refuge in a treacle tart. Not literally you understand, that would have been very sticky and not a bit impractical.

I foolishly thought that it would make me feel better. Two bites in and I regretted it. As treacle tarts go it was profoundly disappointing, but it was more then that. It just didn't help as much as I thought it would. So I threw it away.

It still leaves the question, what does it take to make me keep my mouth shut?

Failing that, what does it take to get a decent tart in Chelsea?

Answer to first question... "What does it take to make me keep my mouth shut? "

I'd say - you're probably better off in the long run _not_ keeping your mouth shut

In answer to the second.... I'm pleading the fifth amendment - there's no way I'm admitting to being knowledgeable about tarts in Chelsea (or anywhere else for that matter!)

I'll get my gran's recipe for upside down suet syrup pudding to you some day.

Answer to question one: (shouldn't eat with your mouth full)

Q2: I dunno, sorry. instead?

Hmm...Abi...tart...loose lips.

Wasn't that the dream I had last night?

B

Well you are only human!

He is?

I'm not *at* *all* convinced by that statement.

Which statement is that? The one about MB being human or the one about me not knowing anything about tarts in Chelsea?

I wouldn't want to say either without sound legal advice from at least two suitably qualified legal personnel.

MB being human, Whisky. Your knowledge, or lack thereof, of tarts I don't feel qualified to comment on. Although I find it hard to imagine that a sailor has *no* experience of tarts

Particularly fishy ones

?