That Fancy New Restaurant on Drury Lane

Your mother wins in a simple game of cricket a comfortable amount of forty pounds sterling, and by inductive reasoning she determines the best way to make proper use of them is to buy herself a marvelous dinner in that new fancy restaurant on Drury Lane. She fashions herself quite lavishly, absolutely determined to make that particular dinner worhty of remembrance, undimmed before the breaking of the world. She goes out to the garage, and takes a smell of the windblown trees in the clear night. The sky itself seems to compliment her dress and accesories, borne of good taste. The car gleans, producing a marvelous vision of her, sparkling with the dim moonlight. Once on the road, traffic seems to make way, so doing as to ensure this marvelous lady and her newly-won forty pounds sterling make it to the new fancy restaurant on Drury Lane.

She at last finds seating in the fancy new restaurant on Drury Lane, and orders a most becoming plate of octopus bathed on black olive sauce, garnished with vegetables she cannot even pronounce but knows are beyond recall and renown… they are that good. A waitress is quick to bring her wine, the best glass the season produced. Everything in the universe seems to conspire in her favour, and she is aware of this as soon as the waitress returns with a delicious, fragrant plate containing the octopus bathed with the purple sauce, ever so tenderly. Dizzy with anticipation, your mother grips the fork and the knife, cutting a slight piece of her meal, and is quick to bring it to her mouth… As soon as the piece of meat touches her tounge, she is swallowed by a vortex ripped out of the fabric of space, and happens to arrive more than a thousand years before her time, just in front of King Leonidas’s kick. She is smitten with a violent blow into a bottomless pit, which turns out to have a bottom filled with hardened faeces that are quick to break her neck.

WHYYY??? BY MY MOTHER’S UNFINISHED PLATE, WHYYYY??? You exclaim in sheer horror, ripping apart your shirt, shouting so hard the neighbours have to call the police once again. Like water drops that make up the ocean, reasons float in cohesion and numbers vast. Yet the most becoming of the case is of course 42.