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During the War, I told the British public that I had nothing to offer them but "blood, toil, tears and sweat." But it was a lie. A sham. Oh God I'm so ashamed. In fact I had a box of chocolates hidden at the back of my sock drawer that I could have offered around. But no. I just couldn't bear it. I wanted them all for myself! And I knew what the British public were like. They'd have all the Hazelnut Whirls whipped out of the box before you could say Rule Brittania, leaving me with the dregs. Oh yes. But I realise now that what I did was wrong, oh so very wrong.
And that's not the worst of it. No. The blood I offered? Tomato ketchup.
The tears? Tap water. The sweat? Same, but with added salt. The toil?
Same, but with a touch of garlic. How can I live with myself!
(more confessions)
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