This post is for the kids who yearn for the flavour of the late night lamb sandwich (kebab).Lamb sliced from the only-god-knows-how-long-that-has-been-there giant meat stick, lettuce, tomato, onion, tabouleh, tzatziki and hot chilli sauce all wrapped in an edible, carry anywhere skin aka. the flat bread. This is thee only energy bar needed for a treck home at 1am (the same treck that takes you 20 minutes any other day but on nights like these seems to take for ever… are you sure that wasn’t you making out with that very attractive young lama in the bushes??). The kaleidoscope of colours and flavour as you paint a late night canvas with said kebab on its reverse mission as it makes room for another of the same… more chilli this time please.

The late night lamb sandwich is an institution. It probably does have it’s own facey page. It has held kings and queens at ransom, held armies at bay, and held your girlfriend gently in it’s arms, slowly caressing her… hold up, that Mills and Boon career is going to have to wait, reporting the facts is what I do best and reporting the facts is what I shall be mostly doing here today. Mostly.

I do feel the occasional pain of someone who has dabbled in kebab addiction. I can’t remember if it was because of the booze, the cheap thrills or another reason which shall be called “the other reason”, but I certainly remember them being part of my life… which is more then I can say for those other things that I can’t really remember about.

Seriously, this story is being executed with the competence and grace of a toothless hyena at a zebra carcass.

I had a kebab the other night. Last night actually. It was a-v-e-r-a-g-e.

Under seasoned and a little flavourless. A shame actually. Even the chilli sauce and tzatziki tasted like they may have been watered down… I’m glad I didn’t try the water!

I’ll make my own version soon just to show you how good this thing can be. Stay tuned. Or, like my pet circus freaks, stay in the cupboard in the laundry.