Bard was improving his kitchen skills. His latest lesson from 'that know-it-all butler' was a 'simple' fruit tart.

I done the crust okay... had to work awful long to get that shape, though. Meaning it'll probably chew like shoe leather.

He was now placing what seemed like thousands of thinly-cut apple slices in a continuous, fan-like spiral.

"There!" he grinned, poking in the central piece with a flourish. Sadly, his triumphant cry dislodged the ashy tip from his cigarette. It landed dead-centre and dusted every single apple slice.

I'll jus' hide it with fresh-ground pepper. Nobody'll even know th' difference.