What sort of pervert eats the peas and leaves the corn? Claremont.
And this retail insanity: where to start? One you’re past the quotation marks and poor language – bucket? Is this a bong reference? Can small metal containers really be buckets? Why were there no scales to see how much you’d be up for? Why did the checkout chick’s eyes glaze over when she had to say for the ninth time that day: “Sorry mate the bucket isn’t included.” Bucket? Fucket?
Anyway, once I was home with my pealess peas and corn and my nibbled doughnut and my bucketless bananas I threw them into Woogle – and got this metrosexual atrocity which can no doubt only be eaten with lashings of quince fucking paste while sitting on a balcony. I’d rather have some lightly bussed fruits de la mer in a soupcon of formic acid jus and a bowl of chips thanks mate.