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I have question on my mind, but don't you think we should wait for Glenn to "officially" declare my turn?

AW77 wrote:I have question on my mind, but don't you think we should wait for Glenn to "officially" declare my turn?

It's your turn. The answer was in the link I posted.

Well, if it's my turn:
There is a certain kind of food I like to eat after drinking port (I think you too make for the fridge between the last glass and your bed). For a clue: it tastes just the opposite of the sweet port.

A pickled herring?

Sauerkraut?

DRT wrote:Sauerkraut?

No, and "Don't mention the war"

LGTrotter wrote:A pickled herring?

No, but it is pickled as well.

Cheese,to assist dreams?

No, "cheese" gets colder, "pickled" is much warmer

AW77 wrote:

DRT wrote:Sauerkraut?

No, and "Don't mention the war"

Nice.

Frankfurter?

DRT wrote:

AW77 wrote:

DRT wrote:Sauerkraut?

No, and "Don't mention the war"

Nice.

Frankfurter?

Are Frankfurters pickled? So, no.

A pickled onion of course.

Oops. Missed that.

Pickled beetroot (although only God knows why anyone would do that!)

Yes, or to be more precise: pickled silverskin onions

I'm glad it's Owens turn, so I can go to bed now. Remember, we are 1 hour ahead of you here on the continent.

Good night, gentlemen.

AW77 wrote:Good night, gentlemen.

Goodnight.

AW77 wrote:Wreck the Halls: Cake Wrecks Gets "Festive"

Correct.

It's a fun blog. I don't read it religiously, but when I do it's always funny.

My father always claimed he was done out of a place on a rugby team by a low trick. This was perpetrated by a man who went on to play cricket for England. Name that cricketer.

Are we looking for a famous Somerset cricketer from the 1950s?

DRT wrote:Are we looking for a famous Somerset cricketer from the 1950s?

I was born in Kent.

I'll take that as 2 points from 3.

Well he wasn't famous in the fifties. I don't think.

OK. 1 from 3.

A Cowdrey

A Cowdrey

Do you mean A Cowdrey or A Cowdrey?

Neither is the right answer. The man I am thinking of is a right hander, scored quite a few centuries and came a little later than Cowdrey.

As a Kent man myself (from the bit that still calls itself Kent but is now in London) I am bound to ask you which part of the county you sprang from.

djewesbury wrote:As a Kent man myself

Also Kent! Many of many places.

jdaw1 wrote:

djewesbury wrote:As a Kent man myself

Also Kent! Many of many places.

Once again, using sentences?

djewesbury wrote:As a Kent man myself (from the bit that still calls itself Kent but is now in London) I am bound to ask you which part of the county you sprang from.

I was born at Upper Abbey Road, Belvedere.

LGTrotter wrote:

djewesbury wrote:As a Kent man myself (from the bit that still calls itself Kent but is now in London) I am bound to ask you which part of the county you sprang from.

I was born at Upper Abbey Road, Belvedere.

Near Erith. A Gravesend line man. I have you placed now. My spells will be more powerful.

I shall send you some of my hair with the impeccable 77 Graham so you can complete the doll. I remember almost nothing of Belvedere as my parents correctly decided we would be better off in Somerset which is where my mother's family is from.

Anybody got a guess? Belvedere is a clue of sorts.

LGTrotter wrote:Anybody got a guess? Belvedere is a clue of sorts.

I see that at least one committee member of Belvedere CC went to my school. I wonder if the next guesser should combine information about venerable Kent CCC players from the 1960s with the names of distinguished members of Belvedere CC.

Derek Underwood?

Alan Knott?

Brian Luckhurst

DRT wrote:Derek Underwood?

No.

djewesbury wrote:Alan Knott?

Appropriately snaffled by the safest pair of gloves on . My father said that he was due to try out for some decent rugby team (can't remember which) when he was a lad and was told by Alan Knott to wait at a certain railway station at a certain time. It was the wrong railway station and Alan got the place on the team.

There are several problems with this story. One is that it was told by my father, the second is that he was a prop and I rather think that Alan Knott was not built along the same lines, so how he got my dad's place I don't quite understand. Finaly I think that Alan was about ten years younger than my father. However he did tell the story with a gusto and embittered tone which suggested some dark work at the crossroads.

My only other guess would be Mike Denness. If not one of these then it's a nobody and the question is about as good as Glenn's "what blog am I reading that is written by the woman who lives downstairs" question.

EDIT: our posts crossed. So it's my question. A little time to formulate an appropriate teaser please.

It's my question! Sorry for the delay.
We came back from Christmas with Rachel's folks yesterday, and went out for a drink with friends. But this morning I noticed something. What had happened while we were away?

Someone broke into your winecellar and stole all your wine.

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AW77 wrote:Someone broke into your winecellar and stole all your wine.

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Good God no. Please don't tempt fate though.. I seriously considered leaving the trap door open so that anyone entering via the back door of the house and opening the door from the kitchen would fall straight down into it and break their legs. But then I thought they'd drink my port while they were lying there.

The elves (or perhaps Leprechauns?) had sewn new soles onto all of your old shoes?

DRT wrote:The elves (or perhaps Leprechauns?) had sewn new soles onto all of your old shoes?

Not them. This was more dramatic.

A water pipe broke while you were away.

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AW77 wrote:A water pipe broke while you were away.

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You're going in the right direction, but it wasn't as catastrophic as that. It could have been through. Very easily.

You had left the gas on but it didn't explode?

DRT wrote:You had left the gas on but it didn't explode?

No no. Something happened, rather than something failing to happen.
This is related - or at least, it hopefully will be, given say a year - to the answer to a question I asked a little while ago. Which had nothing to do with whisky.

You buried your Parmesan in the garden and came back to find the voles had been at it.

LGTrotter wrote:You buried your Parmesan in the garden and came back to find the voles had been at it.

You are, somehow, unexpectedly, getting closer.

EDIT: but in what way...?

Voles or literature?

LGTrotter wrote:Voles or literature?

Neither. Think more laterally. (Not your go though.)