You're a woman after my own heart, Sabrina. I like nothing better than being locked into a cast iron girdle like in the times of the Crusaders and flapped about a bit with a plastic fish slice.
I know it was a typo!
Griddle, you daft banana!
Let's all sing an old school hymn:
When a knight won his spurs in the the stories of old,
He was gentle and brave, he was gallant and bold.
With Green Sheild stamps on his arm, and a fish slice in his hand,
For Le Creuset and his mother he rode through the land.
No toaster have I, and no fire blan-ket,
But still to toasting fork battle I ride.
Through back into storyland, dragons have fled,
The rust on the toasting fork, keeps us all fed.
Or something like that. It doesn't scan perfectly but we can work on it later.
He sounds like a good 'un.