Last night (following a classic night out for Helen's birthday, it should be noted) I had a donor kebab. First time in ages. In fact, I can't recall having one at all on my year out, so it might be 20ish months since my last one. Not sure though.
I didn't actually pay for it, mind. I was drunk, and so, for the first time, I used an old trick where I notice Abdul's kebab house is particularly busy, and so go in and stand amongst the people waiting for their orders. And look increasingly impatient as time goes on. Sure enough, I get asked what my order was, and a couple of minutes later a fresh meaty donor kebab is served up to me. Great, I used to love these things. Haven't had one in ages.
And you know what? I hated it. It tasted all greasy and grotty and disgusting. And yet I realised that it was tasting no different to every other kebab I'd ever eaten.
Maybe it's a sign I'm getting old now. Or maybe it just serves me bloody right for getting it free.
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