A Slight Return..

Week Five, Day Four : Revolting Restaurant

What's to say? It revolted, nuff said. I am too pissed to report the horror, the horror so I won't. Diners like me shouldn't be allowed out. Sorry about that, doesn't make great reading but I'll worry about it tomorrow. For now get the flava. Yes, flava. I said it....

Week Five, Day Three : Off Games

Been sick. As pig. Raw nose, cooked liver & sweating like a fat girl at disco. But they wanted their thruppence-worth so I delivered it in installments. Back tomorrow, God willing : We're booked in for 8.15pm at the UK's only revolting restaurant (sic) & I ain't missing it for the world. It's Madden's bidet treat..

Week Five, Day One : Tomorrow Belongs To Me

I'll not beat about the bush : It's been over a month now & my patience is beginning to wear a little thin. I made a trip to the library over the weekend to borrow Pat Reid's excellent wartime manual 'Escape For The Over Forties' which had been out on loan from the day we arrived & was peeving me somewhat. Our free time here is at best limited & consequently I was not in the mood for the kind of shoddy service traditionally received in Turf Accountants & supermarkets but not exactly being in a position of power I steeled myself for the worst. Clutching my prized book I waited in line behind a brace of Poles attempting to release about 42 volumes of Carpentry Abroad & a very tall Russian who didn't want any books but just enjoyed queueing. It's only a small library but this was to be a long wait. We were filtered off down a set of stairs into a snaking anger management system where, to my horror, I noticed that the surly monosyllabic guard had been replaced by an actual Dalek & check-out was being manned by a cat with a broken leg. This is the kind of false economy responsible for grinding our great country down to it's basics & making us the laughing stock of the Free Market. I said something to this effect to the Russian who just shrugged & fiddled around inside his bag. Pathetic. And as for the Poles, they simply don't try, do they? Let's just say that things didn't quite go without incident & from now on I shall buy my furniture pre-fab.

On a more positive note I am working on something that may well bear fruit which obviously I cannot go into at any length here. I have made up great strides with Perry over the last couple of days so perhaps his idea of tea at the Criterion is not as ludicrous as it seemed last week. Madden I'm still not sure about : There is something unnatural about being healthy & she is positively glowing at present. If Churchill had eaten that much salad tomorrow would almost certainly have belonged to them...

Week Four, Day Four : Death & the Maiden

We spent the morning in chapel. I am not a religious man but the passing away of clergy is taken seriously in these parts. The very reverend Buttrey, née Alice, Uttrey to those who knew her well, was taken from this life late last night when I was whingeing about those God-awful chefs. A brief service celebrating her troubled life was held at 10am & was attended by most of the camp with the notable exception of Müller who was out culling ducks. As we assembled in the nave we were asked to make a small contribution to her Kneeler Fund, a tax-deductible charity she had founded in 1974 in order to raise cash for a couple of protective pads to ease the pressure on her elephantitis. Sadly, the £29.99 required was never realised in her lifetime but most of us chipped in a quid or two so I reckon she'll be sitting pretty now. All's well that ends well as they say. Somehow I felt it fitting that the difference was met in an empty catering tub of margarine. Call me old fashioned but I believe that God is in the detail. May she rest in peace..

Week Four, Day Three : Egg's Victorious Feat

I'm sorry. There's no excuse for last night's travesty & I'm not going to try & make one. It's just, well, those fucking chefs. They make my blood BOIL & when I see them in action I lose all faith in the afterlife & deities thereof. In case you're wondering, yes, we are allowed the Idiot's Lantern but we only have specific channels pumped in & in order to access them we must sit through a 20 minute CenterParcs propaganda movie that suggests there is an element of choice. Fun, even. All conversation routes with Madden & Perry have dried up : We sit together, stony-faced & silent with our respective plates of unmentionables balanced uncomfortably on our laps. Last night I cracked & signed up for the movie, unheard of in my lifetime but preferable to the smalltalk. I managed a strategic visit to the small room for the moment in Sherwood Forest when smiling families queue for the Waterslide, willingly handing over their dole money to criminals but was hoiked out before I'd even got me Daks down. Then, without being consulted, we were whisked over to one of the terrestrials on which a grotesque bald Fritz Klein-stylee cook was punishing some journalist/author types with obscene concoctions from the lab as the recipients gushed forth eulogies, hideously aware of camera angles & the forthcoming fee. Oh, and guess what? It's a 'theme' meal, bit like what they do at Little Chef'n'all. And the mans' restaurant is currently under investigation : No shit, Sherlock. So, I'm sitting there, wondering where I can hide the second half of my Beanfeast when suddenly it comes to me : Here I am, hostage in a pretend Scandanavian wonderland surrounded by trusting woodland creatures. Why not catch my own dinner & serve it up as a gesture of goodwill? It's cost effective & a darn sight nicer than the shit we've been eating this far in. I wait for the obligatory quiz show to begin, Madden & Perry pitting their wits against Jimmy Carr, hmm.. Just enough time to catch the beast, smuggle it through the sliding doors & pop it into the microwave. Job done.



I begin with the bunny. He's very sweet but despite having seen Watership Down this one's for the pot. I coax him over, all smiles & Mother's Pride but the fucker has me down. He eyeballs me & makes off for the undergrowth with his booty. Arses! But no matter, here comes a pheasant, traditionally one of the most stupid creatures on God's earth. No match for me then, what with my educated hunting instinct & speed'o'light reaction timing. I opt for a different approach, making comforting clucking sounds with my epiglottis that will surely lure the idiot bird to it's untimely demise. He strolls to within strangling distance but as I lunge forward he trots off towards the horizon, momentarily distracted by the sound of the bottle bank truck. Tits on toast! Ah, but what's this? Holy Maloney, you don't get to see one of them too often! It's a Mountebank, one of those travelling musical mini-deers that got accidentally let loose into the countryside by some posh Indian chap with more money than sense. At least I think that's what he called them, what the fuck do I know? Anyway, the Mountebank is curious, more fool he. Cautiously he makes his way towards me, eager to claim my cargo of budget breakfast material. I'll not be caught out this time though, no siree. I pull a friendly face & winch back the bear trap. 'Look', I appear to go, 'if you step this way you will be full for eternity. Be my friend & be forever grateful.' He twists his head. I twist mine. The shit. Inside I can hear the end credits rolling & the clatter of dishes. Time's almost up. The Mountebank does something weird with his teeth. I do something weird with mine. Come to me, bubba, c'mon.. And then nothing. For at least a minute. More clattering indoors. And then the catastrophic grind of the sliding door, revealing Perry in an apron & Madden close behind in a microscopic shell suit & trainers. This is too much for the Mountebank : It's off like shit off a shovel, leaving me with egg on my face & an ankle in the trap. Good manners prevents me from relaying here the exact words I used to express my disappointment at the outcome of events, but suffice it to say that tomorrow I shall take coffee alone. With fags. Shitloads of fags...

Week Four, Day Two : Butchers Block

Those sleb chefs have totally got my goat. Again. There is little I can write now of value until I calm down. Watch this space..