When it comes to bad friendships, prevention is always better than cure.

12 years ago I left The Mothership. I got blown off course trying to get back to it. I may never make it now but at least I’m heading in the right direction.

I suppose in his own little lurcheree, thieving bastardly, self centred but incredibly loveable way he is a legend. I just can’t afford to pay for his rock and roll lifestyle anymore.

For the rest of the country it’s a post code lottery. Your children’s school days will be determined by where you live and not their academic abilities. Some parents go to long lengths buying property in the right catchment area just so 10 good GCSE’s are in the bag.

For me the only postcode lottery that concerns me is the the take away lottery. It has three components to it, The Chippy, The Chinese and The Indian take away. In order to get the maximum lazy culinary satisfaction out of life all three have to be in a perfect alignment.

This means the following,

1. All within easy walking distance
2. All providing good quality and therefore not necessarily cheap food
3. Chef’s specials that make them unique

Every day my post box is bombarded by leaflets from every kind of take away. I understand that this type of advertising is cost effective and a great way of reaching local consumers. The truth is though that the best form of advertising by far is word of mouth. Ask me for the best sit down meal of any variation in the town and I will tell you exactly where’s good and where to avoid. A loyal band of devoted users will get you far more trade than a poorly designed flyer ever could.

At this point in time I have only one out of my three. The chip shop down the road has been under new management for a long time and has now become a bastardised chip/kebab shop. They chips taste like they have been cooked three times and the ketchup provided has more chemicals in it than peroxide bleach. I think that this is a battle I will never win. It’s a simple case of beer plus needs must. Crap but convenient on occasion. I have already posted about Maidstone’s best chip shop so if I do crave a good bit of fish I don’t have to look much further.

I wasn’t prepared to go down without a fight when it came to a good curry though. The take away round the corner always provided great food every time I ordered, then it changed hands. I remember when this happened as a friend brought the curries in and I was immediately alerted to the lack of taste in the one I was eating. I was shocked and it was only when I went to order the next one that I realised what had happened. Every curry I bought since then was a disappointment and I gave up. Tried other restaurants but no joy. Then I thought what the hell give them one last try.

I plucked up the courage and went in to speak to the chef. I told him that the curries I’d had weren’t great. He suggested that I try this one or that one.  I declined the set menu instead outlining what I was looking for in a great curry. He said he would do his best to meet the brief. 20 minutes later and my curry was on its way home. I unpacked it and took my first mouthful with great anticipation. What can I say, it was absolutely superb! I ate the rest with relish. Once the sweat on my brow had subsided from the extra chilli I picked up the phone to thank the chef for such a great dish. He was really happy to get the call. We chatted for a while and I can’t wait to go back and order exactly the same dish again (I’m not expecting as much Lamb as he did add plenty extra on that occasion). It got me thinking though…..Surely it takes just the same time and effort to make a good curry as a bad one. So what was the missing ingredient? Probably just a little bit of thought.

When Kyp was younger and his energy levels were limitless I would take him over and get him after a ball. I was “working” him even though I never had any intention of getting him after rabbits and hares. He loved it and would kill himself trying to get the ball. On a good day he would run the course of the pitch about 20 times. A few years later I was speaking to a mum I know and her son was throwing the ball for Kyp. I took my eye of them and let them get on with the game. Kyp ran so hard that he collapsed. The woman I was speaking with was mortified and ran home to get some water for him. He survived but I could see his running days were soon to be over. In the vacuum that was left there was only the bins. And boy does that boy like a bin or two. My days up the field were spent walking after him grabbing his head out of one or other of the many bins dotted round the area. Obviously this is a fruitless exercise as he can run much faster than I can and I can’t be in more than one place at once. Unlike that little sprint distance champion bastard. Then came the muzzle. Thank you muzzle making man. You’ve changed my life for eight pounds.

Now I can sit on the bench free in the knowledge that no matter where Kyp goes even if he finds something as tempting as a sun-dried tomato pasta salad its about as much use as a one legged man at an arse kicking contest. Happy days! That said there is still the general flotsam and jetsam that uses the field on a daily basis to traverse. I have a nosey dog and people who don’t own a dog themselves love to throw the ball and pat him and ask questions. I have lost more balls than I care to mention to over eager alcoholic or junior would be dog walkers who take it upon themselves to give him that little bit extra exercise at my expense.

 There is a wide social and ethnic mix that uses the field chavs, grammar kids, Nepalese basketball players, kids on the swing etc. Most people though are complimentary towards him. He does have stunning markings and they can generally tell that although he’s a naughty dog he’s also kindhearted and gentle with it. When I walked past a group of men who’d been playing football they asked me about him. I could tell they were from Poland. The said he was “a great dog”. I let them know that the only reason that he had a muzzle on was to stop him eating everything in his path. “Drink with us!” said the man I was speaking too and handed me a shot glass. They were drinking vodka. It was only 5.30 in the afternoon and I had a skin full last night. I declined but will definitely have one next time with you boys. Na zdrowie.