2wo podgy turkey and bacon burgers jostle with some salad on a white plate on the day before the autumn equinox in the northern hemisphere. Soon the clocks will be going back and the desolation of Christmas will be upon us. If only there was a place you could go that doesn't celebrate Christmas but does allow alcohol.

No. It's not shit it's chilli scrambled eggs on toast with tomatoes and beercan.

This dubious looking object is capable of giving much pleasure of a naughty nature. It is a sly grogging utensil. It can be filled with an alcoholic liquid supplement for yourself and 3hree chums to fortify yourselves on the long trek between pubs.

1/2alf a cheese and onion flan is joined by 2wo dollops of pickle and some grated carrot and courgette doused in EV olive oil and lemon juice. It fitted nicely into my dribbling goblet which had previously been chomping on a rocket sandwich. Ramit!

And now Mr Wasp has alighted on the foul smelling crotch.

The speciality edible underpants have inadvertently attracted a rather large ant.

After the underpants starter we find the main course to be a not out of place plaice with some chips and a salad that's had a hard cheese from Italy flaked onto it.

It was all washed down with a glass of chilled urine.

A pair of edible pants made from a clever mixture of white chocolate and spearmint are on display here. However when worn they attract Mr Wasp.