Out, out, damned pot...

Doris phoned me early this morning.

"It's a beautiful day," he said, "how would you like to go out for lunch - my treat?"

"Definitely" said I. "Where?"

"Ah, that's a surprise. But somewhere in the Perth countryside."

Mmm...Gleneagles! I was delighted; it's ages since I'd been there and what could be more delightful on a Bank Holiday, than a wander round the beautiful grounds of Scotland's most famous hotel, followed by a lunch made by the great Andrew Fairlie?

You can imagine my surprise then, when about a mile before Gleneagles, we pulled into a layby.

Doris leapt out, opened the boot, and decanted onto the grass, a load of wood, some tatty old mugs, and a kettle that had clearly been around since the Crimean War.

"Um, what's happening?" I asked politely. "Bit of fly tipping is it?"

"Nooo.....I told you." He waved what looked suspiciously like an Ainsley Harriot Cup-a-Soup at me. "We're having lunch. Out!"

Reader, I wouldn't like you to think he's a cheapskate. Of course that wasn't really lunch.....





There was also a Pot Noodle.