Don't need to toil much, but i will take that...as long as i don't smell like a cheap Brothel which is what berni seems to decide he smells like
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It is, isn’t it? I remember eating a celeriac soup there when younger and feeling that eyes were on me to ensure my head did not move one centimetre towards the bowl; that not a drop was spilt; that no slurping took place and that my spoon was always pushed away from me.
It was probably the most stressful course I’ve ever eaten. With hindsight, though, soup was a mad choice.