publicgriefjunkie 

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Dairy Medley

Dear Rachel

I horrified an artisan baker recently by making a sandwich out of crisps and a focaccia. If you're unfamiliar, a focaccia is a type of bread originally eaten by Italian peasants but now made by people called Angus and Fergus and sold to people called Laura and Matilda, and Greenwich Market is knee deep in it. I pointed out that they were artisan crisps, but he was still upset.

It's because of this sort of thing that I have developed an intolerance to artisan food. I'm fine with nuts and wheat, but I have to avoid anything that claims to have been prepared with love. It's not that it isn't nice - on the contrary. I have no problem with artisan bakers baking stuff, but I do have a problem with the expectation that we should be grateful to them for having done so. 'I don't care if God's made it,' said Danny at Greenwich on Sunday, summing things up quite nicely, 'four quid is a lot to pay for a Viennese whirl'.

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by Paul Smith - One Hundred And Thirty Six Thousand Pounds
Yes - if that's not the end of an era, I don't know what is.

Sam - One Hundred And Thirty Six Thousand Pounds
It was Vinny's wake yesterday.

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