It was one of the best. A jolly posh lady with a stately home who made pheasant terrine from her own pheasants, sausages from her own pigs and damson tart with her own damsons. The entrance was to die for as was the dining table which was elegant, rather than the usual hotel tat that everybody thinks is tres chic.
Trouble was they were all so jealous and competitive they marked her down, even though they raved over her food.
One little witch with a face full of botox and filler said very sniffily, I like modern houses, this is too much. It was sad to see her ruin a rosti in her shoe box.
The Northern woman was loud but nice although very competitve and the guy was a sneaky rat who went all out to win the grand.