Post alcohol reverie

Tonight was quiz night.

Well, it should have been, but the questions failed to arrive and we will have to rearrange the fixture for later in the season. We played a friendly, scarfed back industrial quantities of sausage, chips and sarnies.

And drank.

Oh yes, we drank. Harvey's Best Bitter and Harvey's Pale Ale. But mainly Harvey's Best Bitter. Sometime during the evening we acquired a truly awful clock for tenner. I think the clock itself is worth £12, but it cost us a tenner on account of the hideous plastic baroque setting. We intend to spray the entire thing silver and present it to an ex member of the quiz team on the event of his 50th birthday. That'll larn 'im.

And what a fine way to spend a chill February evening it was, too.

Of course, there are side effects.

Despite the truly gluttonous performance displayed by both teams in eradicating every vestige of food provided gratis by mine host, every man good and true knows that copious quantities of fine ale filter through the human giblet and congregate in that one spot which is crying out to be fed.

And so it was.

Sitting in a surprisingly chilly tube on the way home, the mind wandered inevitably to the question of what to push down the gullet. Now, Clapham High Street is well served by fast food outlets. Off the top of my head I can think of three pizza places, A Kentucky, a Nandos, one Spud-U-Don't-Like, four kebab houses, one Chinese Take Away and three Indian Restaurants who will cheerfully supply a take away curry. There is the ubiquitous McDonald's too. Until twelve months ago they were accompanied by a drive through Burger King until the latter succumbed to well, a driving through. It hasn't reopened.

But.

There are times when the body craves a bacon sandwich. Not grilled bacon, but fried, crispy, cholesterol-smothered, artery-cramping bacon. Bacon with enough fat to sculpt two madonnas and half a nativity scene.

Not one outlet sells this. And I haven't the fixings in my fridge.

Damn.

There's a gap in the market here. Bacon Bagels.

Mmmm...

Sacrilicious.

Post alcohol reverie

Tonight was quiz night.

Well, it should have been, but the questions failed to arrive and we will have to rearrange the fixture for later in the season. We played a friendly, scarfed back industrial quantities of sausage, chips and sarnies.

And drank.

Oh yes, we drank. Harvey's Best Bitter and Harvey's Pale Ale. But mainly Harvey's Best Bitter. Sometime during the evening we acquired a truly awful clock for tenner. I think the clock itself is worth £12, but it cost us a tenner on account of the hideous plastic baroque setting. We intend to spray the entire thing silver and present it to an ex member of the quiz team on the event of his 50th birthday. That'll larn 'im.

And what a fine way to spend a chill February evening it was, too.

Of course, there are side effects.

Despite the truly gluttonous performance displayed by both teams in eradicating every vestige of food provided gratis by mine host, every man good and true knows that copious quantities of fine ale filter through the human giblet and congregate in that one spot which is crying out to be fed.

And so it was.

Sitting in a surprisingly chilly tube on the way home, the mind wandered inevitably to the question of what to push down the gullet. Now, Clapham High Street is well served by fast food outlets. Off the top of my head I can think of three pizza places, A Kentucky, a Nandos, one Spud-U-Don't-Like, four kebab houses, one Chinese Take Away and three Indian Restaurants who will cheerfully supply a take away curry. There is the ubiquitous McDonald's too. Until twelve months ago they were accompanied by a drive through Burger King until the latter succumbed to well, a driving through. It hasn't reopened.

But.

There are times when the body craves a bacon sandwich. Not grilled bacon, but fried, crispy, cholesterol-smothered, artery-cramping bacon. Bacon with enough fat to sculpt two madonnas and half a nativity scene.

Not one outlet sells this. And I haven't the fixings in my fridge.

Damn.

There's a gap in the market here. Bacon Bagels.

Mmmm...

Sacrilicious.