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This letter offers a positive treasure trove of sweets, snacks, main courses, puddings, and accompanying drinks. Make the most of week ‘p,’ because I can tell you that week ‘q’ doesn’t look too promising.

Paella. Yummy.

Parma Violets

Pasties. Proper ones, not those pale flabby imitations you get in the chiller cabinet at the petrol station.


Pate. But not foie gras. Morally unjustifiable.

Peanut brittle. You can cheat and sneak this into week ‘n’ too, since where I come from it’s also known as nutty slack.

Pease pudding. Bit like a daal without any spices.

Pheasant. Bit over-rated. Mind your teeth on any loose shot still in there.

Philadelphia Cream Cheese


Pickled walnuts. Look distressingly like small brains, but I like them.

Pies. Of any description. Sweet, savoury, the whole world of pies is at your feet here.


Pineapple Chunks. The sweets, not the tinned fruit.

Pint of whelks. Acquired taste, like fishy erasers.

Pistachios. A bit healthy till you wrap them in filo pastry soaked in honey to make baklava. Then they make your fillings itch.

Pizza. Yay!



Potatoes. Any form, and way of cooking. Just go ahead.

Prawn cocktail. The mainstay of the 1970s dinner party or trip to a Beefeater. Perfect.

Pringles. Can’t stand them myself, but there they are.

As for the impressive drinks list….

P’Shit. A soft drink that at one time was popular in quite a lot of Europe, but curiously failed to break into the British market.

Palinka. Dangerous eau de vie from around Hungary.

Peach schnapps. You can dab this on warts

Pernod. You must be mad to even think about it. As I said about ouzo, you cannot trust a drink that goes cloudy when you add water.

Piesporter. I think the first e should be an s, but that may just be me. A German wine with not much to recommend it.


Pina colada

Pinot Grigio/Pinot Noir. Noir for me.

Planter’s punch

Pomagne. Glorified alcopop for the new generation of drunkards.