…because they can find great cheese nearly anywhere.
The tartan clad McMouse in St Andrews only needs to take up residence in the cheese shop on South Street to live out her days in luxury, tripping between the wheels of gorgonzola in the window, and the emmenthaler on the shelf. ‘Auch, forget the golf,’ she says, nibbling on a crumb, ‘any self-respecting traveller can smell the cheese before they even make it in the door.’
In Spain the lucky El Mouso living at Montserrat Monastery can look down on his comrades in nearby Barcelona. ‘I like to sit right here on the edge of the cliff on market day,’ says El Mouso, ‘it’s an excellent place to enjoy the local cheese or a fig or a little drop of honey while I watch the tourists take the cable car to the monastery.’
|Cheese in Sarlat waiting to be tested by Madame Souris|
Madame Souris in Sarlat, France, has the run of Place de la Liberte except on Wednesdays and Saturdays when she has to watch out for the vendors setting up their food stalls. ‘But I don’t mind at all,’ she says, ‘because I can taste any cheese I like while I listen to the buskers and afterwards have a nice nap in the cathedral.’
If you were a mouse, where would you find your favourite cheese ?