The Bees in the Wall, Whittlesford

Basil Fawlty lives, and is running a pub in Cambridgeshire. The exterior of the place appeared run down and I had a bad feeling about it but my companion was hungry so we stopped off there for lunch. In the deserted dining room we headed for a table laid for four since the tables for two were not roomy. The landlord immediately ordered us to move to a table for two. This might have made sense had there been any chance of a full house but the room remained stubbornly empty, with only two other diners turning up during the whole time we were there. I can understand why. Although baked potatoes were on the menu, when my companion asked for baked, rather than the mashed potato which came with the meal he had ordered, the proprietor could not see his way to making such a substitution. At last he conceded that he might be able to do it provided that a surcharge was paid. I ordered chicken curry. When it arrived, concentrated investigation into the curry sauce finally revealed a few half-inch cubes of actual chicken amongst the principal ingredient, which was potato. As he cleared the plates away, the proprietor asked -- in a tone of voice which implied that a negative answer would not be welcome -- "Is everything all right?". I remarked that my curry would have been better had there been a bit more chicken in it. The landlord's wintery smile became positively glacial as he responded that there *should* be enough--each serving had eight pieces of chicken it it. He counted them himself!

21 Sep 2009 22:29