Mehallabiyyah, Anyone?

As you well know, it’s party season. School’s out for Easter, and the children are out in force, cavorting through the streets like Eastern Bloc revolutionaries. I walk into a restaurant where 15 of these stubby, prepubescent rabble-rousers have gathered for a birthday bash. Nothing wrong with that per se, except for the fact that the ‘restaurant’ is a kebab house.

A kebab house?

For a 10-year-old’s birthday party?

What the fuck’s going on?

What the fuck are they eating?

Sponge-cake with chilli sauce?

Blancmange and cock-sized pickled gherkins?

Lord, give me strength.

And some of that jelly in Pitta.

96-Hours, 100 Words

Go to work. Come home. Watch TV. Go to bed. Wake up. Loaf about. Go to birthday party. Drink shots. Dance badly. Humiliate myself. Return home with friends. Continue drinking. Pass out on stairs. Wake up. Go to bed. Wake up. Invite friends over for breakfast. Sit in garden. Eat bacon sandwiches. Drink Bucks Fizz. Go to pub. Watch football. Come home. Eat curry. Fall asleep on sofa. Wake up. Go to bed. Wake up. Go to work. Come home. Watch TV. Go to bed. Wake up. Go to work.

That, I think, just about brings us up to date.