Hell, if they were good enough for the Owl and PussyCat; Quince, mince all eaten with a runcible spoon then they’ve got to be good. And they’ve even been to sea.
It was my Mum’s birthday recently.
Despite proclaiming occasionally she couldn’t be bothered with the food thing altogether she is quite partial to a slice of tart. Particularly if it comes with a weak flat white and a girly chat in the afternoon.
She’s …

