You may recall that some time ago, I became rather upset that I didn’t get any roast potatoes when I had a roast dinner at Temper.
I wrote to them.
There are a lot of things missing from my life.
Perhaps most importantly, Margaret Thatcher. Barely a day goes by when I don’t think about her. I read about her every day, I stare longingly into her eyes every day (albeit a lifesize cardboard version of her). Every day I dream of having a strong and stable Prime Minister, one that believes in the power of free markets to reduce inequality and provide freedom, opportunity and roast potatoes for all.
I miss cuddles. I was going to put that I miss sex, but it has been so long that I have to watch videos on the internet to remind myself what it is. But, you know, to lay in bed with a beautiful woman, preferably non-cardboard though Maggie does join me occasionally, feeding each other roast potatoes with David Attenborough in the background stalking some rabbits.
I also miss cardigans. I used to have some awesome cardigans. I had a postbox bright red cardigan which I loved – alas some northern girl ‘borrowed’ it (northerners don’t steal…yeah). I’ve got two other cardigans which are quite vastly oversized – despite how fat I am. And another which I have finally realised actually looks crap on me. So I have no cardigans in my life. I cannot think of a segue between cardigans and roast potatoes.
And soon the EU is going to be missing from my life too.
So I was saddened a few Sunday’s ago to have my misery of missing things compounded by your negating to provide your Lordship with one’s expected roast potatoes.
They are stated on your menu. They are pictured on your tweet. I could see the damn things in the kitchen – and they actually looked like they had been roasted – a novelty south of the M62.
— temper (@temperldn) October 22, 2017
You would have been in contention for number 1 roast dinner in London – officially – for I am Lord Gravy and on a mission to review every single roast dinner in London (although I do have a small problem of not enough Sundays).
But despite your gravy being of sexual nature and your lamb being proper peng, how could one rate a roast potato-less roast dinner as number one?
I feel cheated.
I will get over it quicker than I got over the defenestration of Lady Thatcher, of which I am still upset about. It will probably take slightly longer to get over as accepting that I’m too fat and ugly to get any young non-obese woman into bed And I’ll be banging on about leaving the EU for years like a proper traitorous, sabateuring, snowflake remoaner that I am.
And I’ll likely be back to your excellent establishment, albeit possibly as part of a large protest group campaigning for “3 roast potatoes” – I’ll just tell a load of lefties that Jeremy Corbyn is going to be outside and I’m sure I’ll get a load of weed-smoking snowflake tosspots to help me.
Alternatively, do feel free to post me my missing roast potatoes.
Lord ‘Missing My Roast Potatoes’ Gravy
They didn’t write back. I didn’t get any roast potatoes in the post. Eventually they advised me via the trustworthy form of social media, that the roast potatoes were just from a press photograph.
Damn fine roast dinner though – still in my top 10 at the time of writing.
Missing Roast Potatoes
Where now, sailor?
Random roast review: The Eagle, Ladbroke Grove