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So why “Cookies for England”?
It has been a lifetime dream of mine to go to “Jolly Old England”– to walk languidly beside the Thames and dunk crumpets. I don’t even know what a crumpet is, but I’d really love to dunk one in . . . whatever they dunk things in over there. I’d love to see Stratford on Avon– the rumored birthplace of William Shakespeare. Did you know that, when Shakespeare died, he left everything he had to his acting troupe, and left his wife absolutely nothing but their bed? She didn’t even get the sheets. Sheesh.
And of course I’d have to see the incomparable beauty of the Dales– famed homeland of one of my all-time favorite authors, James Herriot. I’d love to see London and the address 221B Baker Street– home of fictional sleuth Sherlock Holmes.
I’d love to call someone a “chap” and not have people stare at me. I’d love to ride a double decker bus (on the top, of course!), poke my head in Harrods’ (and then run right back out again because of the prices), and order blood sausage just so I could gag and take a picture to document the fact that I actually ordered it.
I know that these things are about as likely to happen as the nullification of income taxes, so here goes nothing. I will attempt to try something I know nothing about (blogs), and combine it with something I love and know about (cookies), and see if, between the two of them, I can somehow get to England. Yes, I realize I will probably be so old by the time this happens that I will have to scrape my walker across the London Bridge (can you even cross that?), but it’s worth a shot. I bet the queen will still be alive, God bless her. I need to switch to whatever that woman eats for breakfast.
Let’s do this.