Live Slowly. Die Old. Frizzle by name…

One of the stereotypes I like is that the Americans do generally dig the English accent (note my choice of words – I hate the term “British accent”).  It’s good, because it means that across the Atlantic, I’m not just a pretty face.

As we may have alluded to already, Chris liked to capitalise on this (the love of the accent, that is, not my face).  I mean, how long does it take to buy a candle…?

Longer than it takes me to buy a pair of jeans, it would seem.  And yes, he was interacting with a lady.

Anyway, when I left you last time, we were just about to head out in Downtown Boston for a meal.  It was a most enjoyable evening, and credit must be given to Chris for keeping a straight face as he asked for the reservation in the name of “Christopher Frizzle.”

I succeeded in my quest for some steak, which turned out to be a genuinely excellent choice for dinner:


Chris, meanwhile, turned out to be a “full rack” sort of guy:


At this point in the evening, it was Patrick who was sizzling:


Things hotted up for Chris soon enough, however…

Praise the Lord!


Giles Westbrook said…
That's hilarious!

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