Pizza-based philosophy

Our intrepid hero stirs from his semi-conscious daydream.

He is surrounded by matching decor, modern chairs, gut-wrenching murals celebrating "life" and there seems a preponderance of very large windows allowing him to view the grey skies which are, at least, more alive and natural - unlike the charade unfolding before him which is interrupted only occasionally by the cries of a small child (or two).

The mind-numbing banality of the "trendy" building (which is vaguely round) has seeped into his very being and he looks bemused at the rest of his family as one of the servers busies him or herself clearing away items off the table in front of them, while the boss (in charge of the proceedings) looks on from the side with a glib look on his face, his hands clasped in a all too smug pose.

Where was our brave adventurer? At some happy clappy, evangelifish, ecumenical open-plan Church of Latter Day Morons?

No, dear reader, though apart from some large black ladies wobbling around and "praising the lord" there was little difference.

This was one of those chain pizzerias and the hero of the tale was loathe to be there, but as the Peruvians say, "needs must when the devil vomits in your shoes" etc.

And so what passes for pizzas were dished up, one in the latest fashion of these things (there's been square ones, quartered ones, stuffed-crust ones and so on). A pizza for all seasons.

Oh joy. If hell really is other people, then a long time in purgatory must be these kind of "restaurants" to stretch the term beyond all meaning and recognition.

Still, this particular visit to one of America's execrable exports went with one memorable and humorous moment as, sandwiched between a moment of Simpsons-esque chomping with food and beverages flying in all directions, one of the sprogs made a pleasantly refreshing observation.

Some of the regular blog readers may remember how one of them made the link between noise and students as we played eye-spy in a pub-outing in the Summer. The very same sprog had us laughing uncontrollably again with yet another pertinent pronouncement on this occasion.

We had been generally swapping moans, rants and funny asides in the jocular familial way many of you will be familiar with.

Somehow or other the word prostitute came into the conversation, which had the two youngest sprogs looking blankly whilst the eldest coughed politely and looked into his glass.

"What's a prostanute" asked the tiniest sproglet in all innocence, to which the other innocent - honestly, I kid you not, replied "It's something to do with the government."

Cue the laughter!

Out of the mouths of babes... etc.

Clearly my years of ranting, finger waving and controlled foaming at the mouth have paid off!

Needless to add, I decided against opting for the tart for dessert. I don't think my double-entendre meter could stand that kind of pressure.