As I was perousing through the mounds of ex-rainforest that happen to make up my Saturday newspaper before consigning them to the multitude of coloured bins that festoon my back doorstep, I had to restrace my steps because something caught my eye.
After collecting up the myriad of colour supplements that fall out like confetti, and turning to page 8 of one of these I happened upon an advert.
Nestled between ads for battery-powered bookmakrs, clockwork pot-plants and incontenance slippers, there was: An ingenious device that finally makes the job quick and easy. One simple movement on the non-slip cushioned handles moves the stone and cuts the fruit neatly in half with no mess or fuss. A Mango Splitter!
This is further proof that the world has gone daft in the interim. You see there's only one real way to eat a mango and that's to stand naked in the kitchen holding the thing over the kitchen sink and hoping for the best, trying to sort of hide while the strange chap with the telescope from number 22 doesn't take snapshots and send them into the newspaper where you found the advert in the first place.
There should be one here on Monday, I have my mangoes ready and waiting. I do hope that the postie hurries up, but excited as I am at owning this marvel of the 21st Century, I fear I may end up cutting myself on the device.
Now that I think about it, the only person who I've ever seen successfully disassemble an mango without injuring themselves in the flesh was Poirot. I think that the reason for this was the David Suchet had been told how to open one by no less than HRH Prince Phillip the Duke of Edinburgh. Mind you, he's found a method which although is slightly more expensive still results in perfection every time...
give it to one of the servants to do it for him.
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