Believing it's not beurre

Back on Bainbridge, I knew it weren't butter like our mum insisted on but I bought it all the same for good old fry-ups and spreading on toast.

By the way, I came across this review only because I was trying to find an explanation for that yukkiest of sensations, damp toast. OMG, you get the toast perfect, you spread your healthy Greek boutiro, you spread your Church fete orange & lemon marmalade as crafted by the Beautiful Widow's own soft hand ... then you crunch in except it ain't a crunch 'cause the underside has got all damp. What a way to start a day on the trail.

But back to the vitriolic assessment, and gosh I'm glad I didn't read this at the time.

(Actually, in cases like this, they always slightly remind me of sedition critics who, it appears, rant away in detail about all the closely-analysed points with which they disagree to the extent that they would never evAH read a filthy word)

In this case, it's as if the chap is saying

'Good god, I'd never go near the muck, wouldn't touch it with a barge pole, I mean if I even spot the label I throw up and if I spotted it in a friend's house it'd be onto the dumpster or I'd be driving home.

'Let me show you a list of all the ingredients and their effect ... sitting comfy, yeh?'