"When actor Victor Kline headed overseas to research a play he had an ulterior motive. [as if the opening line isn't atrocious enough... couldn't spare a comma?] After spending time in Dubai and Casablanca, Victor headed to Paris for more research and to propose to his girlfriend, x, on the Eiffel Tower. [some truly awful details edited out - in short, she said yes] ...
They celebrated with a couple of pastis near the Pont Alma Marceau."
I'm sparing you the rest. A lazy-arse journo/sub couldn't be bothered to find out what pastis is, let alone how to hook it up to the requisite grammar. For those of you who have worked out how hard it is to develop a taste for an aniseed liqueur mass noun that needs watering down to a cloudy colour - you KNOW you never have a couple of it.
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What could be more romantic in the city of love, than to celebrate with- no not alcohol-but a pair of stodgy "Anglais" vegetable pies( not even quiche). This is indeed a ledge just below the summit of Mt Romance on the northern beaches, where a couple of pies and a longneck of Coopers in the North Steyne carpark are tantamont to a marriage proposal
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