Cockaigne
Mash up now!
Leave it out you slag! I most certainly is a cockney don’t you know, living in the shadow of St.Leonard’s, patron saint for the release of prisoners, women in labor and the diseases of cattle. Yeah and on a windy Sunday I can spit as far as St Mary-le-Bow, if I’ve a mind to like.
Pie, mash and liquor. Gives you minerals. What’s not to love, apart from the mince aspect. This generous portion was dished up by Bob Cooke, proprietor at F.Cooke’s pie and mash shop, Broadway Market. Washed down with a piping hot mug of builders, a far cry from the babychinos and Ethiopian Yirgacheffe Chai lattes of Climpsons, et al
“Hello, young man”
It takes Bob about ten minutes to warm up the vege pies, just long enough time to pop in to Memets for a slice of cold watermelon. D likes plenty of Salt-N-Pepa on his lumpy spuds, Bob’s liquor is made from the tears of the jellied ells that simmer in a vast tureen steaming under the window. Is that Dennis Waterman on the back table reading the Mail? “I could be so good for you….” He’s a cockney to…
