It comes as a mild surprise to note that today is the third anniversary of the death of the wonderul Alan Coren. That's a quick three years. I was thinking of him just the other day, as it happens, watching the cleggster and cabletron's astonishing voltes-faces on tuition fees (+everything else they once held very firm, unshakeable beliefs about) one of the first things that popped into my head was how riotously amusing he'd have found it. Outrageous, yes, revolting yes, but also deeply, deeply funny.
"He says it's inedible" said my front of house manager, as she laid the half-eaten fish and chips in front of me, and instantly I relaxed. Clearly, I observed, it was edible to some degree. I comped it, because I can't be arsed arguing the toss, and I want to make my front of house's lives as simple as possible. The haddock had been delivered that morning. The fryers had been cleaned that morning. The batter had been made that morning (and it's very good batter, ask me nicely and I'll give you the recipe some time). The fish and chips was identical to the other 27 portions I'd sent out on that lunch service, all of which had come back more or less hoovered up, we have have a (justified, if I do say so myself) very good reputation for our chips. But it was, apparently, "inedible". When it comes to complaints, less is more. If you use a hyperbolic word like that, I'll switch off, you've marked yourself as a rube, a chump, I'm not g...
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