Ey up, it's a beautiful snowy day here in the Dales, it is soooooooo pretty, you must be pig sick if you live in Birmingham, or Glasgow, or Brazil. (You notice that I squeezed in another South American hit word there, I'm already #4 on Google for Eva Peron naked, wahey). I wrote a while ago about the practice of battering commis chefs, well, they should also be regularly tortured and humiliated. At one restaurant we had a commis obsessed with his appearance, he would spend more attention on hanging up his civvies and polishing his shoes than he would on chopping chiffonade or pureeing the soup, a disgrace. What fun we then had by lightly misting all his clothes with water and putting them in the deep freeze all night, ah, the look on the lads face as his girlfriend waited somewhat impatiently while he tried to push himself into a suit of icy cardboard. When his clothes warmed up he would later discover that evil Sous chef had emptied his entire bottle of aftershave over them, oh the pungent smell on the dancefloor.