Knit one, furl one. ....

I was in a good mood this morning - until I sat down with tea and toast to read about a Michelin starred restaurant in the Lake District.

There, for the bargain price of £130 (NOT including the wine!) you can indulge in a 17 course tasting menu.

And here's the bit that's had me spitting out my Earl Grey - this incredibly pretentious dinner includes 'grey macarons placed on real rocks - the waiter will challenge you to tell which ones you can eat.' (Presumably, the ones you don't break your teeth on!)

Then you can try venison tartare with 'fennel candies and an inky charcoal oil, made by infusing a burning ember in rapeseed oil'. I wonder who invented that little gem? Someone who dropped his fag in the salad dressing and wondered if he'd get away with it?

And if that doesn't get your gastric juices flowing, you can indulge in a 'tiny leaf emerging from a ceramic sack, packed with mushroom soil.' Now I don't know about you, but the day I decide to snack on anything even vaguely similar to a plant pot full of compost, is the day that I approve of my dinner being covered in foam, with a pureed 'smear' decorating the plate. Except, it never is a bloody plate nowadays - it's a slate, or a chopping board, or a hideous aluminium bucket!!!!!!!!!

Thank you, I feel better now. I'm off to eat an air puffed honeycomb sphere, infused with malt, and hand dipped in a melted cacao bean glaze.

(That's a Malteser, to you and me......)