Kebabs save lives!

Kebabs are omnipresent. Walking along at 4am and pissed out of your brain in rural grimsby (or somewhere grim) and there will no doubt be a busy little shop, poorly tiled, shoddily maintained with barely recognisable underpaid and unshaven men scuttling in the background. Yet his shop will no doubt be packed to the brim with customers from all walks of life, from the spotty cap-wearing townie to the middle class entrepreneur of Angel, Islington. Kebabs cross classes.

And at least if you don't happen to be lucky enough to stumble across a shop itself - falling victim to an illusory sighting like an oasis in the desert - then you'll most certainly spot the remains of a partially consumed affair, uneaten or vomited, on the sidewalk.

Yes Kebabs usually make you feel a bit wrong, why they don't even look like meat in the first place. And the man who shaped your Kebab on its silver skewer was probably the man who just walked out of the loo having pissed all over the rim and then proceeded to walk straight past the hand basin.

Yet all that aside I have arrived at the conclusion that, shall we call him, Abdul and friends are lifesavers. Can you imagine how many drunk lads, and nowadays ladies, are sobered up by Abdul's miracle brown lump graciously flanked by several lettuce shreddings, tasteless tomatoes and mystery sauce? Without this sobering delicacy (the kebab) the plebs would continue to roam the streets exceptionally drunk and probably do silly things like drink-drive. Hence Mr Kebab man sobers the drunk man and sends him on his long way home in a much more sober state, thus reducing crime and the odd excess fatality.

So in the festive spirit of appreciating all things dear to us I ask you all to join me in hailing the Kebab man... !



(Letters of appreciation should be sent to Kebab & Friend Chicken magazine published regularly by the National Association of Kebab Shops... prizes for guessing the award doled out for each month's star letter]