Gentille reader, whose eyes ought daily to be washd in teres of modest gratitude for youre gigantick intellect and sound right-thynkingness, praye do not averte your tender weeping-balls from my latest shockyng adventure. You will fynde yourselfe somewhatte the better for't; here is verily a Moral Dagger wyth Witte and Tragedy drainyng down the Fuller.
Upon leavynge my home I walked streightway to the puny yet conwenient Shoppe on the corner and obtaind a Jobbe whose scope and relevance styll make the droole runne down my jerkyn as I wryte. What illustrious employmente! My prosing dayes were done! Nowe the innocent Apron of my misdireckted minde shoulde become the canvasse for a newe worlde of funcktionality that I lookd for'ard to wyth tremendous shaykes. For I - and I do not exaggerate - had founde th'employmente to ende alle Employmentes. A Crusade. A quantumme lepe in status. I walked oute of the Shoppe a Restaurant Critick!
I kickd some innocent Inferior People oute of my way as I made straighte for the Taylors. A hatte and a bibbe, Nashe. Wipynge my salivatynge mouthe on a sewer-ratte I plungd hede-firste into the bakerye where in my phrenzie I ordered a frozen pea be bakd into the centre of a skull-shapd lofe, hadde to renege on't, and finally lefte it in the arms of a tiny old manne weepynge profusely and claspynge't to hym. But steye I koude not, and I rapidly pourd all my glory and happyness downe on themme lyke the fat smylynge blancmange of ecstacy who awaiteth the quyck and the dede bothe. Crossynge the roade under the benevolente sunne I smyld at all aboute me. A baby was workynge at a lollipop wyth its vacuum lips thrashynge on it. No taste, I mus'd goodheartedly as I considerd that a babye has but a rather litel diet. The Taylors!
Bib! Noodlehead! I blasted the toadying Doorman whose toppe hatte was fleckd with cobwebbe and mil-dewe as he inclind it to'ard me. As the door shutte behynd, I watchd the shop come pulsatyng into view fromme my sun-blasted vizion and amongst the junk-yarde of clothe, ribbons, mannequin hedes, over-pil'd Stock, collapsd Stocke, shotgun cases, cigar barrells, tuxedoes, fether boas, eager-faced assystantes, ruind marble Pillars, crownes, bow-ties, sunglass rackes, curtaiynd cubicles and hap-hazard plankynge, I made oute the exackt out-fitte right on a Dummy at the backe. Soone enoughe I was trimme as a barber's Razor and armd to the teethe wyth cutlery. I payd the Taylor wyth a credit-note on the name of my new Employer Mr Hyndemarsh and lefte the windowe rattlynge in its Frame wyth the velocity of my exitt.
Thys breake-necke pace continued throughoute the daye as I rushd dementedly from one place to another, often withoute knowynge where or who I was. It maye puzzle the reader somewhatte why I chose to become a Restaurant Critick with such an access of Lunacy, and I see fitte to explayne; let the narratyve retyre from my splenetick selfe raving around Clapton in the drizzle to consider the situation from the comfortable fyre-side of Reason.
The symple answere was that it was a solution to last weke's problemme. Another factore was the prospect of eatyng a great deale of food and gettynge paid for't. But the Principall Reasoun for th'extremity of my Episode was that I was so extremely Satisfyd with seleckting so marvellous a jobbe thatte I was quyte beside myselfe wyth pride. Pride is the burdenne of a man lyke me. I must always guard for't and watche for its huge eye wynkynge at mye follye. The mighty sun-glasses of Modesty may defleckt its gaze awaye but even Phancies and acheivementes that are only dimly percievd by th'Eye of Pride are turnd to World News in your afflicktd Nashes mind. I do not thynke that I am alone in thys - indeed I am not askinge for sympathy. Onlye that the merciful reader understande that a man who ever excells must be torturd by that excellences burdenne. And in my case it is the endlesse watchynge and flattery by that wicked Eye, probyng for anothere scrappe of my genious.
Nowe to my firste assignmente: the Royal Bison in Mayfaire.
Welcome to our delicious restaurant! Exclaimed a French Door-Person(f) as I entered. Th'exclamation hung in the aire lyke a body from a gallowes. I performed a volte-face yet was somehow escorted inwards by a waiter. Firste Impressioun: Feeble. Decor outmoded and girle is muche too friendly & a liar. Poor use of adjectyve. Potential endyng: Style rydes Substance down to Helle screaming. It was to a small perfectly rounde table that I was conduckted wyth some deference. I tippd my wayter wyth an edition of Proust and satte downe to Take Stocke. The Bison is frequented by enormous moneyd people who brynge theyre familys close to their clubbe and office to shewe them offe to theyr friends. It also caters to some minor members of Parliamente who havynge dined in't for thirty yeares are sustaynd by a complex cock-taile of drugges the head cheffe puts into their usual dishes, keepynge them coming backe. Some never leve. It is rumourd that the titantic Bison suspended from the ceilynge in fulle Viking regalia was a gifte from a certayn Lord who foudne hymselfe in thatte position and orderd hys bisonne broughte to calme hys nerves. Now it was suspended like the Sword of Damocles over a preposterously Fat woman whose arms billowd & thundered out of her sylk dresse lyke a rockslyde. Lyghte classickal musyck rotted on the synthetyck aire. Waiters made softe breezes as they passd wyth theyre trayes and note-books. Thys was only the beginynge.
Waiter! I whisperd and instantly 10 of them were at my feet. You! I seleckted the least French-lookynge. Brynge me the Set Menu, the beste one, and please also some Brede-Stickes & houmous in a silver dishe. Please also bringe a monocle a typewriter sixty cigarettes four months worth of Milk and St James' Park. He bowed and brought alle of the above in plastick Minature, which impaird their function severely. When he returned I was grinding Buckingham Palace under my bootheele in an attempt to take a turne i'th' parke. Here is youre Scottish Plover Pudding as startere sir, servd wyth Blakke-Power icecreme on a four-poster bedde of Rockette and Pine cones. He stood by as I drew out my shortest and most modest forke. He lookd on as the implement approachd. Suddenly I screamd and smashed my arm into the aire.
Don't looke at me! I commanded. Instantly he turned away in fright and shame.
I ate the course. Starter: Decent. Plov. Pudd. Not as good as Grandmother's. Rockette is crispe, full. Plover hede offerd for inspecioun. Adequate servyce. As I composed my review I noticd the waiter was crying because i had not notycd hym recentlye. Next course! I barkd and he smyld through hys teres.
More courses followd. One was a greate bowle of soupe and fulle of butterflyes beneathe the lidde. For the fish course, whych was crabbe, the waiter hadd a traind lobster who evisceratd the beast before oure eyes and emptyd the deliciouse mete oute onto the plate. For the next ----
[hiatus in M.S.]
No comments:
Post a Comment