I remember when i lived in London and worked on building sites, i shared digs with a Scottish mate, in them days the pubs closed at 2.30 on a Sunday.
After a night's boozing around West London, on the Sunday morning my Scottish mate Neil, would stuff a Chicken with Paxo, it went in the oven around opening time at the pub, he had it timed to cook around closing time.
We came back to the digs, the Chicken was cooked to perfection, he put it on a table and got a hacksaw from his toolbag and cut the Chicken in half, i got half and he got the other half, he had also cooked some vegetables and made gravy to give the occasion some semblance of dignity to the Chicken and ourselves.
Happy days back then in London.
After a night's boozing around West London, on the Sunday morning my Scottish mate Neil, would stuff a Chicken with Paxo, it went in the oven around opening time at the pub, he had it timed to cook around closing time.
We came back to the digs, the Chicken was cooked to perfection, he put it on a table and got a hacksaw from his toolbag and cut the Chicken in half, i got half and he got the other half, he had also cooked some vegetables and made gravy to give the occasion some semblance of dignity to the Chicken and ourselves.
Happy days back then in London.