The Good, Kebab, and The Ugly

A charming young chap by the name of Campbell emailed me a (admittedly long) while ago with a pair of puns so good that I almost fell of my little chair. I've had to research their existance, they were so fine. I can only apologise to him for suggesting he may have devised them himself. Although, in a way, it's a compliment to his suspected wit, so he can't even be angry at me.

Firstly, a place that sells Spanish doors. Now you can probably see where I'm coming from here. This sounds so construed that it can't be real, right? Well, hold onto your sombrero's, mis amigos:



I know. I couldn't believe it either.

Thankfully, his other effort, I had 100% confidence in. Given that the finest pun I've been sent to date belongs to Jason Doner Van, the fact that there is not one, but an entire chain of these around Ireland does not surprise me, but does fill me with joy:



Now that's magic.

I'm gonna lay something on you that you might not believe yourself here, however. Are you ready?

I have never, hand on heart, eaten a kebab. And yes, I do like a drink. I used to frequent a (sadly no longer with us) rock club pretty much every Friday evening for a long period and never dined on the startling elephant leg that rotated in Farnborough Kebab & Burger opposite.

Such was my fear of the pisshead connoiseur's favourite dish that one Christmas Eve, after enjoying one too many jars of dizzy juice, I chose the frankly substandard fish and chips from their menu rather than a 'bab.

And while my friend Dunk and I sat on the steps of the nearby HSBC, dining a Christmas meal feast I never want to repeat, we saw a sight that will bond us together in teroor, and will be forever burnt upon my retinas. The Gunrack of Christmas Present, squatting gently in an alleyway "going for a quick slash".

I never finished that cod.