In the bag

Inconclusive conversations were had, in the B&W experimental kitchen, about why other people's crisps always taste better than yours, even if you then go ahead and buy a bag of the same. The closest we got to a theory was that it had something to do with the limited number of someone else's crisps you can have before seeming rude. Also, I always think other people's chips taste better than mine – somehow their seasoning is better, and they are mysteriously always hotter. God, we're fascinating people. PW

Ships and dips

I never realised this: Marie Rose sauce got its name from a Royal Navy chef feeding the crew that brought the remains of the wrecked Mary Rose to the surface in the early 1980s (she sank during battle in the Solent in 1545). The chef had nothing to go with the prawns so was forced to improvise …

Hard to imagine ketchup and mayo didn't get it on before the 1980s – but in any case, I think our explanation holds more water. PW

From the archives: Christmas drinky

Not sure I noticed this the first time around, but what's that mysterious fizzy cloud around their heads? I love it, but I don't know why … PW

Can't remember what that is, I think they might already be pissed! I'd put the time at roughly 4pm friday, they've already had a couple, and 'Christmas drinky' is code for stepping it up to a total lost weekend. That dog isn't going to get fed til monday morning ... JB

Maybe it's a little swarm of faded aristocracy flies? PW

You described it to me earlier in an email as 'middle class dust'. I definitely suffer from that. JB

Roger rampage

Oh dear me. I've just been up to Blackwell's bookshop to take Roger some apples, only to find the place in chaos. It seems someone had left the door open, allowing him to make a break for it. I caught him outside Jamie's Italian, but it was too late . . .

 

Pot-bellied piñata

No cartoon in Weekend this week, because there was a 'food special' instead . . . confusing, eh?

Meanwhile, Roger continues to wow the punters of Park Street here in Bristol. 
As everyone knows, a Roger isn't just for christmas — we've already had several offers of a permanent home for him, but we feel sure his adventure isn't over yet. For one thing, Jamie's Italian is just next door, with a window full of hams, so I'm sure he'll have something to say about that — watch this space.

On a more sombre note, he's already confided in us that when his number is finally up, there's only one way he wants to go . . . JB

Roger on tour

Roger's currently makin' bacon at Blackwell's bookshop on Park Street, Bristol — wave if you're passing.

The santa hat has done nothing for his mood, as you can see. Thank goodness he can't see Jamie's Kitchen next door, with a window full of hams; Imagine if he escaped in the night and decided to scrawl something on the glass . . . JB

Berger & Wyse caption competition #1

 

I am very bad at caption contests.

For some reason they make my brain shrivel up like a poked spider. Various manuals on writing sport the idea that you have a censor or editor version of yourself, and the key thing is to know the right time to invite that editor in. Not too soon, or your fledgling ideas will die without being given a chance to develop; not too late or you may have become too attached to your sonnet about soft cheese to give it the burial it deserves.

As soon as I try to dream up a line for a caption contest, that censor me crashes through the door, Sweeney style, and tells me anything I say may be taken down and used against me as evidence that I am utterly deluded and need a change of career.

As Joe pointed out, it's interesting to consider whether a cartoon contest winner is still funny if you imagine that a cartoonist had just presented that line with the cartoon … Or is it a special kind of funny that is fuelled by the knowledge that someone added the line later?

At which point, over to you. There's an image above we're setting as a caption contest. Once we've got 50 entries in we'll pick a winner and they will get a signed copy of Berger and Wyse Food Cartoons.

Spread the (lack of) word! … PW