Jacob isn't sure about some of the dishes on offer. He's used to simple Victorian fare- meat and veg and gravy and beer are his comfort foods of choice, with bread and butter and maybe some jam if there's any going spare.

So all of this seems incredibly over-the-top. Even more so than the copious amounts of food and drink at Buckingham Palace or the Tower at those fancy royal parties. He's spoilt for choice, but he's also very much uncertain. He's already had a drink, or three, trusting that no one would put anything in alcohol. But food? God only knows what's in some of these dishes.

"Where do you start?" He asks, mostly to the universe itself, but also to anyone listening.