Indian food; personal saviour or destroyer of worlds?

Well, with guests and all that, what should be done, if not feeding myself up with a mixture of takeaways and beer?

For luncheon I pulled in at a roadside chish and fips shop in Dawlish Warren, where they took so long to cook our order that my battery was dead from leaving the doors open and the radio on.

As is customary in these situations, the children and associated accompaniments conspire to assist me in manners which only serve to aggravate the situation and so are shipped off to the beach to have fun, whilst I get a lift into Dawlish proper for to find myself a garage.

Unfortunately the garage lacks for equipment as the van is out on a breakdown, so I am left buying a set of frankly pathetic jump leads.

If you are the baker who drove me up from the Warren, be assured that I am far more grateful to you than I was when I alighted your pick-up. Being local, I am used to a friendly response from passers by and a generally pleasant atmosphere in most of the South West. Unfortunately, come Emit season, this all changes.

If I had been aware of the way in which Northerners, visiting our humble county, feel about hitch-hikers, I might have taken the cliff path instead. The only moment of joy was the red van driver who told me he was taking the next left and was buying chips when I arrived at the chip-shop and my truck.

Well, I lifted the 'bonnet' which, being as I drive a Delica, involved moving car seats and unplugging fridges and generally faffing, and sat down to 'enjoy' my cold chips and await a suitable truck to attempt to jump start my truck, in the vague hope that the leads were up to the job.

10 minutes of greasy foulness later, I turn the key and the engine starts. Bugger. Oh well, I drive off to the beach where, through a fantastic twist of fate, I am able to thank the red van driver who is having a snooze there for all his assistance, which annoys him enough to make him cringe down into his seat.

If you are he and reading this, I hope you drown in the pus which your own boils exude.

So, a greasy lunch needs some sort of follow up, in case swimming out to sea to annoy a yacht has burned off too much of the fat. Indian, I thought.

A variety of beers, wines, spirits and Indian cuisine later I stumbled to bed and blessed sleep, but I woke up this morning feeling fine and weighing 192.5lbs.

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I am having a poo
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The exceedingly average poo which has resulted in my weighing 191.4lbs leaves me feeling dissatisfied with the quality of Kenyan beer and Indian food.