We were taken out for lunch this weekend by our insane Indian landlord.
After being regaled for an hour with some rather lewdly spicy (and frankly, unprintable) tales of his yesteryear relationship as a Cambridge undergrad being led astray by a Catholic nun, we were taken for lunch in what can only be described as a slice shop.
Although he was at pains to impress upon us the fact that he would not be taking us for a cheap lunch, our entrees were brought to the table in silver foil trays and by the end of the meal, there was a hole in the bottom of June’s plate.
As we walked home feeling both dazed by the experience and somewhat violated, we recalled, that as someone once said, there’s no such thing as a free lunch.
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