I am sat at a table in a Harvester restaurant. Our meals have been delivered, and I can see a waiter heading toward us. I am worried.

Here is why…

Over the last couple of years, I’ve developed a particular trait when visiting restaurants. Actually, it’s two traits, and I appear to have little or no control over either of them.

The first is that every time I notice a waiter or waitress approaching, the moment they arrive at the table, I’ll make a little noise, as if I am slightly surprised, “Oo!”. That’s right, “Oo!”. I make a noise that makes me sound like Alan Carr after a particularly saucy comment.

Now clearly I’m not surprised at the waiter’s arrival, I’ve seen them coming from at least two or three metres away, and yet I am almost powerless to stop myself. I don’t know when this started, my wife noticed and pointed it out a couple of years ago on holiday, and now it’s become a constant battle between my concious and subconcious mind, which invariably ends with an “Oo!”, followed by my wife stifling a giggle.

The second trait is, I think, rooted in the politeness that was obviously drilled into me as a child. When asked how the food is, the standard response is surely a jovial “Fine thanks.” and that’s it, right? Well, this used to be the case for me too. But not any more. At some undefinable point in the past, I progressed from “fine”, to “fantastic”, via “brill”, with a “great” along the way. Now I’m not sure if you’ve been to a Harvester, or any standard chain pub, but I’m not sure the food can really and truly be described as “fantastic”. Not that it’s not nice, it’s fine, but the main problem is that I’ve set too high a standard. I mean, where do I go from fantastic?

If I were to dine at a slightly posher restaurant with nicer food, what would I say? I can’t say “It’s fantastic.”, that’s the same level as a Harvester, and I think they’d know, they’d see it my frightened eyes. I’ll never be able to go anywhere nicer than Harvester! This is it, I am doomed to chain pubs and maybe a Pizza Hut if I’m careful.

I’ve complimented myself into a culinary corner, and there seems to be no escape. However, a plan slowly begins to form in my mind. If I can revert back to a “great”, or even better, all the way back to “fine”, then I am safe to expand my potential providers of pub grub, and beyond.

All I have to do is hold my nerve when the waiter gets here, and simply utter a basic, but complimentary “It’s fine thanks.” and I am saved.

Here he is.

“Ooo!!.”

Shit. That’s not the start I wanted.

“Is everything ok with your food?”

Well, that’s it, the moment of truth. Hold your nerve, hold your nerve, hold your nerve, you can do this…

“It’s AMAZING thanks!”.

I bow my head, finish my meal, and leave, quietly.