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Albert Versus Nando’s

Albert Versus Nando's

Crayons were provided to help distract the beast, which Albert imagined to be spears, and used as such. After all spears, sorry, ‘crayons’, had been launched, a Nando’s kids meal was offered up as a sacrifice.

I mused that Bertie’s feeding wasn’t too far removed from that of a killer whale at Seaworld; both needed “you will get wet if you sit here” warnings. We, and most other diners were well within the “Soak Zone”. Now was the time to cover all electronic equipment and adorn waterproof poncho.

Andrew, the poor sod on caretaker duties and I watched intently as the pincer like hand snatched greedily at the chicken and mash. The first mouthful was a roller coaster of emotions. At first surprise, moving quickly to disgust, replaced by awe, leading to loathing and contempt only to end in a sudden burst of ecstasy. A collective sigh of relief echoed throughout the restaurant, alas, short-lived. Albert’s crane like arm lowered, hands scooping at the mash, raised to his gaping mouth, razor sharp teeth at the ready. And then… he stopped. A devilish smirk appeared (what his cousin would lovingly call ‘the Chucky’ face). The caretaker, mop at the ready, knew long before us, that this ambitious endeavour was doomed. The mash was airborne. A vehement scream that could wake a Balrog quicker than Pippin ever could was unleashed. Fellow patrons glared at Andrew, he gawked at Albert, I couldn’t help but look to the misery stricken caretaker. His thoughts were obvious: “this shit ain’t worth minimum wage”. Any rush to escape would be hindered by slippery mash and rolling crayons. The manager feared a lawsuit. Andrew was left with no choice but to offer Albert his new and expensive smart-phone as appeasement, gratefully accepted and then promptly dipped in mash.

At this stage Andrew was more hysterical than Albert, and I had accidentally rubbed Nando’s “Extra Hot” sauce in my eye, despite moments earlier noting that you would have to be an incredible pillock to make such a mistake. Reading the large and foreboding warning “Avoid contact with eyes – if contact occurs seek immediate medical assistance” done little to subdue my growing panic. Luckily Albert took pleasure in my pain, perking up at the sight of my watery eyes and temporary blindness. Just when the caretaker had finished cleaning up, eye fucking us throughout, Albert’s plate now clean, it was onto the bottomless frozen yoghurt. Fully expecting Andrew to somehow gently heat the icy fat-free desert to a temperature more in-line with his expectations, disappointment lead to rage and the ‘all you can eat’ quickly became ‘all you can throw’ yoghurt.

Food eaten (mostly thrown), Andrew’s hip flask drained, it was time to make a quick exit, sans normal friendly farewell from the Nando’s staff. Final score: Albert 1, Nando’s 0.

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