‘I remember coming up here when we were at Cambridge,’ Arthur says conversationally as Poirot inspects the path. The bushes and hedges and drooping tree limbs. ‘His family threw some amazing parties, back in the day. We’d take our sweethearts out here for a bit of…you know. Well, he would. I was sweet on his sister, swell girl, but she wasn’t that interested.’
‘Mon pauvre Hastings,’ Poirot replies without sounding much sorry for him at all.
JAPP: Well, let you taste some proper English cooking. That’s your mashed potato, this is your peas - mushy peas, we call them. You’ll love ‘em. And this, the pièce de résistance - faggots.
POIROT: Faggot?
JAPP: Faggots. And there’s spotted dick for afters.
POIROT: Dick?
JAPP: Yes. It’s called that because …
POIROT: But this is tragic, Chief Inspector!
JAPP: No, no, it’s fine.
POIROT: I can eat none of this wonderful food!
JAPP: What? Why?
POIROT: Because… I have an allergy of the faggot.
JAPP: An allergy?
POIROT: Oui. I do not know how you say it in English, but in Belgian it is known as la phobie de faggot.
JAPP: I never heard of that.
POIROT: I am so sorry. I should have warned you.
JAPP: This is a blessed upset, I must say. Still, you can have some spotted dick. You haven’t got a phobie de dick, have you?
POIROT: Non.
Boy howdie he doesn’t have any problem with dick. As captain hastings is well aware
the scene where the dude accidentally chloroforms himself is hysterical and i did rewatch it several times, but please allow me to draw your attention to Hastings’ facial journey
“This Monsieur Wordsworth, the poet of these parts, he annoys me Hastings… You know what cheers him, mon ami? A good wine? A large beefsteak? The company of a woman most enchanting? Non! A daffodil who is… beside the lake, beneath the trees—”
