I've been ejected from the golf course management degree (even though I never hit a golf ball). It wasn't only the constant fear of being hit by a ball, it was all the fertilizer I inhaled from the greens. I'm now studying 'Pataphysics, the science of the particular, the science of 'laws governing exceptions'. I've swapped golf holes (green holes) for Black holes.
In between all the Bench Cuisine, I found myself under - and quite often on top of - a doctor. This is true, we're not caking fakes; the pair of us – doctor and savant - we're on the bake. This was our first effort, a German, yet, very Joycean, quark cake.
Shortly after this was taken I was accosted by a young girl, outside the gents toilets. She gave me three pound coins and asked me if I'd buy her a pack of condoms. Not only was I able to oblige, I was able to say: 'Condoms, in my day they used to be called bench lettuce.'