Apparently one can not just erect a 100ft tent/vats of steaming ingredients/open fire in the club car park….especially without permission!
The club security officers were seemingly alerted to our venture by the smell of what seemed like a burning tramp’s mattress emanating from the car park.
On closer inspection a dangerously angled ex Lithuanian army surplus tent omitting the foul odour had been allegedly put there by three drunks who proceeded to heat up a dubious water source by means of a tyre fire.
If this wasn’t annoying enough, being heated in an oil drum (that was clearly marked ‘Toxic Substance. Stand Clear’) was a foul paste that gave off a greenish purple mist that smelled of ammonia and pig dung.
The attempts to pull down the tent by the irate security men led to my staff (apart from The Dingler…who predictably ‘ran off’) fighting to keep the tent erect.
Unfortunately my staff, heavily outnumbered and a bit dizzy from the odour were defeated.
Unfortunately part of the tent caught fire so I booted Hampton into the blaze to sort it out.
He fought a decent battle for 20 or so minutes before he began to succumb to the fire and fumes. I instructed Oaf, who was passively watching on munching his Steak Bake, to put him out.
Oaf obliged by kicking over an oil drum full of boiling water into the hapless Hampton who let out a kind of deep yodelling sound for some reason.
Hampton threw himself toward the luckily only tepid by now, filthy smelling concoction in search of some sort of relief.
….there was none as he’d mistakenly chucked himself into the barrel of seasoning salt by mistake.
I’m not sure what salt does to burning flesh…but judging by the this time more high pitched and strangulated yodelling echoing from the metal drum…I assume the experience might be a tad sore.
Having scrambled from the drum he, flares-a-flapping, hot footed it off towards the Ressers where we heard the distant splash.
The main thing here is that you cannot go off the smell of the cooking to experience the fantastic taste.
Loads of fancy-arsed dishes stink something horrible whilst on the hob but end up as a superbly tasting meal (probably)….
So please don’t be put off when we eventually glean permission from the club to try again when Hampton comes out of hospital.
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