The Jockeys Nostril

[Mups]

Just looked in the book, and there is not one table booked for dinner this evening.

Is it our cook, do you think?   
Or is it the   'Farmer's Welly'  down the road offering half price meals all week?

[Scrumpy]

People are noticing that Andre , the waiter,  is not really French..  I think it's the turban..
And his runny nose doesn't help..
 Scrambled egg on toast for dinner .. doesn't quite work..

[Vlad]

Just looked in the book, and there is not one table booked for dinner this evening.

Is it our cook, do you think? 
Or is it the  'Farmer's Welly'  down the road offering half price meals all week?

Fat Kev has been on an Evolutionary Adaption Course for his YTS course, it's quite a tale.....and I am thirsty

[Mups]

People are noticing that Andre , the waiter,  is not really French..  I think it's the turban..
And his runny nose doesn't help..
 Scrambled egg on toast for dinner .. doesn't quite work..

Aagh,  yes,  I'd forgotten about his runny nose,  most off-putting when it drips in one's soup!   

And scrambled eggs is not quite the same somehow,  not when they come in hoping for a Sunday roast.

[Vlad]

Talking of food.....
Are we presently witnessing the birth of a new sub-species of mankind? Astonishing though it may seem, top scientific chaps seem to think that this is exactly what is happening. Evolutionary adaptations usually take millions of years before they become apparent, but many leading anthropologists now believe that we are currently seeing the emergence of new classification of human being that is better adapted to eating chips.
Several weeks  ago, Fat Kev (he works in the restaurant ok?) a mate of mine spent some time studying an ordinary family living on a council estate in the Midlands. During this period he paid meticulous attention to the family's social activities, recorded their eating habits, measured blood sugar levels, probed their eldest daughter and dissected the family dog.

Fat Kevs Story........

[Vlad]

Fat Kevs Story

(Read the first paragraph in  a quiet  David Attenborough voice)

The Adidas Estate is, without doubt, one of the harshest and most hostile environments on the planet. It's a wonder that life can survive here at all, and yet somehow, miraculously, it thrives. The streets are littered with burnt-out cars, abandoned shopping trolleys, overflowing skips and the rotting carcasses of various sundry domestic animals. As I drive steadily down the centre of the road, taking the occasional deviation to avoid chunks of fallen masonry, gangs of young boys take time out from torturing birds, pet cats and each other to eye up my car.
Strangers are not common around here, and are regarded with suspicion. It's unnerving to have to suffer those beady, red-rimmed eyes staring out of grimy faces, the incoherent grunting and jeering, and the occasional bangs and pings of stones ricocheting from the bodywork of my car. Turning a corner I am presented with a graphic reminder of just how vicious these people can be.
The carcass of a bus is lying on its side in the road, shattered glass spilling out across the tarmac. Twisted and mangled seats spill from the gaping windows, foam padding billowing from the slashed upholstery. What happened to the passengers is unclear, but there is conspicuous evidence that some of them have been eaten
In part 2 I am really thirsty

[klondike]

Would a broccoli smoothie go any way towards quenching that thirst? I ask because some silly sod gave me 5 litres of the bloody stuff for Christmas and it's fast approaching it's sell by date.

[Vlad]

Would a broccoli smoothie go any way towards quenching that thirst? I ask because some silly sod gave me 5 litres of the bloody stuff for Christmas and it's fast approaching it's sell by date.

Ewwwww! Broccoli? I think I will give that a miss mate

[JBR]

Would a broccoli smoothie go any way towards quenching that thirst? I ask because some silly sod gave me 5 litres of the bloody stuff for Christmas and it's fast approaching it's sell by date.

How much do you pay per pint?

[Vlad]

How much do you pay per pint?

I would imagine a pint of Broccoli would be on a par with Watneys Red Barrel taste wise 

[Scrumpy]

Fat Kevs Story

(Read the first paragraph in  a quiet  David Attenborough voice)

The Adidas Estate is, without doubt, one of the harshest and most hostile environments on the planet. It's a wonder that life can survive here at all, and yet somehow, miraculously, it thrives. The streets are littered with burnt-out cars, abandoned shopping trolleys, overflowing skips and the rotting carcasses of various sundry domestic animals. As I drive steadily down the centre of the road, taking the occasional deviation to avoid chunks of fallen masonry, gangs of young boys take time out from torturing birds, pet cats and each other to eye up my car.
Strangers are not common around here, and are regarded with suspicion. It's unnerving to have to suffer those beady, red-rimmed eyes staring out of grimy faces, the incoherent grunting and jeering, and the occasional bangs and pings of stones ricocheting from the bodywork of my car. Turning a corner I am presented with a graphic reminder of just how vicious these people can be.
The carcass of a bus is lying on its side in the road, shattered glass spilling out across the tarmac. Twisted and mangled seats spill from the gaping windows, foam padding billowing from the slashed upholstery. What happened to the passengers is unclear, but there is conspicuous evidence that some of them have been eaten
In part 2 I am really thirsty

And that's a quiet day.. Wait until the 5year old kids are off next week.. 

[Vlad]

Talking of kids.......


My destination, a quiet cul-de-sac, seems to have escaped most of the ravages that have overtaken the rest of the estate. There is no one about, save for a youth of about fifteen perched on railings, playfully threatening a boy half his age with a large kitchen knife. As I get out of my car he fixes me with that dark, sullen, slightly retarded look that seems common to most of his kind, but otherwise seems to take very little interest in me.
The family I have come to see, the Fosters, live at number seven. None of the houses are numbered, so I make an educated guess and approach the most likely dwelling. It is, like all the other buildings, a squat, grey, pebbledashed bunker, with peeling paintwork and a rusty basket ball hoop drooping indolently on the side wall. 
A ragged assortment of tall, thick stemmed weeds protrude from the dusty scattering of gypsum that passes for a front garden, partially hiding a selection of broken breeze blocks, old car batteries and a dismantled motorbike. I step over a rotten, rolled up carpet, skirt the mortal remains of a dead dog, half concealed by an upturned wheelbarrow, and make towards the door - which has been removed from its hinges, and is now propped up against the wall, beside the open doorway.
"Hello!" I shout inside. "Anyone home?"

[klondike]

You all missed you chance. The broccoli smoothie went down the sink. 

I should have save some of it though - that sink hasn't been so clean in decades. Might even have been good enough to tackle the gents. Obviously not strong enough for the ladies but only a sledgehammer and a trip to B&Q could sort them.

[Mups]

Talking of kids.......


My destination, a quiet cul-de-sac, seems to have escaped most of the ravages that have overtaken the rest of the estate. There is no one about, save for a youth of about fifteen perched on railings, playfully threatening a boy half his age with a large kitchen knife. As I get out of my car he fixes me with that dark, sullen, slightly retarded look that seems common to most of his kind, but otherwise seems to take very little interest in me.
The family I have come to see, the Fosters, live at number seven. None of the houses are numbered, so I make an educated guess and approach the most likely dwelling. It is, like all the other buildings, a squat, grey, pebbledashed bunker, with peeling paintwork and a rusty basket ball hoop drooping indolently on the side wall.
A ragged assortment of tall, thick stemmed weeds protrude from the dusty scattering of gypsum that passes for a front garden, partially hiding a selection of broken breeze blocks, old car batteries and a dismantled motorbike. I step over a rotten, rolled up carpet, skirt the mortal remains of a dead dog, half concealed by an upturned wheelbarrow, and make towards the door - which has been removed from its hinges, and is now propped up against the wall, beside the open doorway.
"Hello!" I shout inside. "Anyone home?"

Sounds an utterly charming place to visit, Vlad.   
Are you considering selling up so that you can move there now?  

[Scrumpy]

Sounds an utterly charming place to visit, Vlad.   
Are you considering selling up so that you can move there now? 

He got the key to the door last week.. He's not sure which door it is yet..  He is trying all possibilities..
  It sounds so exciting..