'Ah, Taggie,' the Professor's formless mouth widened, showing crooked yellow teeth. 'Go and get another bottle of whisky from the larder, Tag,' she said sharply, 'and clear away all these plates. 'Ay don't know why. They can't all be awful.
Her dark hair was fighting the pins that held it up. 'Poor thing's got conjunctivitis,' said Rupert. 'Or any cabbage or salad. That would be five people for Cyril to fire on Monday.
Join the newsletter to receive news, updates, new products and freebies in your inbox.