Friday, 1 June 2012

The fodder of her native heath

      We were at breakfast, which for me in my indulgent age was Russian style (sausage, brandy, and coffee and for her the fodder of her native heath: porridge, ham, eggs, black pudding, some piscine abomination called Arbroath smokies, oatcakes, rolls, and marmalade (God knows how she’s kept her figure), while we read the morning journals.

Flashman and the Tiger, p.254, Harper Collins, paperback edition 2000.

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