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The red sunne rose on a newe daye to fynde me groanynge and pukynge - ay, vommitynge - into a buckette of inadequate size, cursynge the hell-bred cheffe and all his devil-waiters. Its light scourd my bed-roome, where it refleckted off my mirrour into my wretched visage to blind me as I regurgitated Oyster-Pie and 'banana waterloo' right into the meagre receptacle.
Abstrackt'd, I listennd to the pig-language that came oute of my sickynge mouthe with some degree of distaunce and self-contempte, and eventually managd to muster myselfe sufficiently to stande up (whereat I felle downe) and groane (whereat I was sicke again), and finally to dragge myselfe lock stocke and barrell into the pale whyte bathroome to make an ende of the repulsyve businesse. Thus evacuated, I dranke down some cloudy tappe-water and examined the open quarrie that resembled my face. My eyes were lyke holes dryll'd in dede flesshe, and my teethe had turnd yellow and jutted oute of my mouthe. My chekes were compressd, my ears distorted, my for'ead scord wyth tram-lynes. I immediately regretted my choise of employmente and staggerd into the kitchen, where I slumpd on the floor and wishd sincerely that my owne death wolde come, that I might be renderd the posthumous Dignity of seemyng to have buckld under the duresse of condiciouns that were truly lyfe-thretenynge. As it was, I could not thusly save face and so I was forcd to slepe awhile there, until the hard flore and despicable Birds awoke me three houres latere.
Usynge only my armes, I draggd myselfe to the stove and boyld some water for Coffee. I didde not forgette I hadde a dede-lyne and, forcynge myselfe to my unstedy fete, wente backe into my roome to clere away the Emissions and set uppe my quille, drippynge cold swett onto everythynge. The review I wrote was favourable, yet I lyke to thynke it was also even-handed and not at all in awe of the legendary establishment or its superintendent ungulate.
The Observer Food Supplement
The Royal Bison, Mayfair
By Food Writer Thomas Nashe
A Mayfaire Institution synce 1804, The Royal Bison has long tradyd on its reputacioun as an exclusyve dinynge roome and jazze venue, where the publick are kept quite safely oute of the picture and meals of tremendous scope and sise can be enjoyd by gourmandes. For a starter I hadde Plover Puddynge wyth a pinte of beaujolais. Three Urchyns were heard shoutynge outsyde whilst I gobbld it and they were summarily lind up and shotte by the Head Waiter, who in spite of which Blip, remaind thoroughly solicitous toward thys critick; he is to be Noticed. My glasse was kepte brimmynge as I powerd aheade into the entree, halfe a baby ox wyth its tongue on a silver spyke, and remained unfinishable as I island-hoppd betwene orchid souffle, bumblebee flan and swan holocaust surprise. It ys the policye of thys restaurante to blende the flavours and as I ate wayters came t'introduce fresh side-dyshes - bird of paradyse on a stycke, elephant-tail noodles, slow-worm fricasee and th'unsurpassable fusion dysshe rhubarb crumble con carne. My second glasse was also fylld wyth water from seven rivers and my backe was increasingly cushiond as I got into the Swyng of trenchermanshyppe, finally lyinge expertly prone wyth camel sorbet and hi-protein coffee stremeing downe my chinne.
The servyce was nonpareil and I sholde recommend thys as a dinynge experience to suite th'unpopular or particularly greedye amongst you - if you happen to falle into bothe campes then G-- ha' Mercy. I woulde not recommende male readers brynge their wyfes as they are bounde to excyte jealousy from the resident company of women who are so vilely swollen and greyed wyth excesse they looke like their own family vaults, and whose patience is worne so extremely thinne from under-use they they mighte very welle lose It at the slightest hiccough.
The total coste of the meal was £274.21 includynge servyce so I would not recommend thys restaurant to the Poore. The head cheffe, M. Lapin-Muerte, is a true master of nouvelle cuisine and he is to be stuffd and displayd in the Foyer when he dies in the line, the fate of every truly grete cuisinier.
I seald up my Review and struggld rounde to my employer Hyndemarshe's house, a massive mansion in Belgravia where he receivd me in his opulent sitting-roome.
-Sit downe Nashe, he began, I see you are very Ille.
I tooke a chaire wyth its backe to the door and there ensued a short silence. A droplette of sweate fell on the Persian Hearthrug.
-Sir, I have written a review.
-So I shoulde thynk, he snorted before blowynge hys nose on a fyve-pounde note. Let's see't.
I handed himme the paper wyth shakynge, clammy handes. He read it over.
-Yes, the Bison, the food, the waiter. You haven't mentioned the gardens.
-No sir.
-Never mynd. Thys semes welle, please let me paye you.
-Thank you sir.
He retird into a further roome and returnd wyth a handful of money that he directlye threwe on the carpette.
-Thank you Nashe he sayd and I sat there starynge up at hym wyth eyes shinyng from sickness. You can go nowe, get youre money.
-What is the meanyng of this, I sayd (feelynge the old fyre in me), why can't you give it me?
A board creakd in the hall. He merely lookd at his fete.
-Why did you that, callous toade? I demanded, tryynge to stande uppe but faylynge and feelynge the dampnesse of my shirte on the leather chaire. Ide lyke you to gyve it to me, please.
-Bad backe, he sayd.
-L---, I replyd, what is the matter wyth you?
-Ah! He cried, and rounded on me. I have been sufferynge so longe and fruitlessly to be a decent employer, Great G-- I cannot respect those who labour under me sufficient to treate them better than earthwormes! It is a knitting-needle jammed in my soule, my bad backe is merely a fiction to proteckt myself, pity me!
-Come agayne?
-Oh, my sordid lyfe, fulle of moneye and insufficiently usefulle to the wyder worlde. 'Tis hypocrisy to paye you, 'tis hypocrisy to lyve, let me die, let me die!
I wonderd at this abrupt change in the emotional Climate. He was weepynge great bigge teares and rollynge around in the moneye, and my teethe chattered as I lookd on, paralysd wyth Illnesse. At that moment, a knocke came at the doore so suddenly I cried oute loude and was able to swivell my head just sufficiently to see a younge womanne with black ringlets come pokyng her hede in.
-Daddy! She screeched and ran to hym, strokynge his grete bigge balde hede. You are havynge another Episode. Do something!
The latter comment was addressed to me and I strove to stande uppe.
-Get some water, he is most unwelle.
I shuffld out of the drawyngeroome onto a polyshd landyge from whych I coulde observe a bathe-roome. I totterd inne and filld a tooth-glasse wyth water before returnynge limpinglye to the sittynge-roome. The girle was smoothynge her father's face wyth a cold flannel and usyng th'other hande to scrape up the cashe into a litel hepe. She was a swete-facd girl but somethyng hadde gone wronge in her to distort her. It was notte the eye. Nor the face at all. As I ponderd on I notycd she had rather a shorte necke and it made her looke a touche dwarfish although she were not conceivably a dwarf. She tended to Mr Hyndemarsh very lovynglye and when she stoode to help hym uppe I notyced that she was actually rather prettye.
These are my daughters, Ide lyke you to mete themme sayd Hyndemarshe when the moral panick had been utterly extinguishd. Thatte - he indickated another girl approachyng from the hall - is Volvic. Thys is Evian. They are my sole helpe in th'extremity of my indolence. Here Evian put her arme arounde hym. Nowe take youre money and go, go!
I hurryd out and shiverd backe to my lodgynge, where the pest-controul invoice lay fringd with coffee on my desk, wayting for me to paye't. Meanwhyle the huge whyte rodent lay in the corner of the room, where I fancyd I saw it twitch.
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