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!