I was on my way to the Robin Hood to celebrate a friend's birthday. My wife was already there. I had been working late and hadn't eaten. I did what every man does when left to fend for himself. I went for a burger. I went to Grubbs.
Grubbs is Brighton's best burger bar, England's best burger bar, the World's best burger bar. I would be inclined to suggest that it is the Universe's best burger bar. I went for a triple blue cheese burger. Seriously, why does "triple" only have one "p" but "nipple" have two? I blame the moles for that one.
Grubbs' window had been smashed the night before, and I walked to the Robin Hood seething with fury. I expressed this fury in conversation with a chap named Olly. I don't remember the exact contents of the rant, but it went something like this.
"What sort of culinary hooligan would smash the window of the greatest burger bar in town? It is nauseating to imagine the monumentally incognizant lunatic that would do such a thing. The mental gymnastics required to empathise with that behaviour are impossible. I tried a mental triple back flip across a balance bar and it just made my brain hurt. The perpetrator deserves to have their feet encased in a gigantic concrete burger and subjected to a series of brutal coordinated gherkin-throwing attacks."
"I do apologise," said Olly. "We had a drunken shopping trolley race last night and one of the trolleys went through the window."