My nana used to put olive oil on her legs fall asleep in front of a roaring fire and she wouldn't wake up until she could smell pig crackling dosy old ****e I hated the old get.
But the poor olives have dreams. They dream of being in a salad next to a tomato and cheese. Next think they know, they are being squashed and their juice being smeared on the cheesy helmet of a deviant in backwater of england. Not the cheese they longed for as kids.