My blogging activities are limited since I’m still in this strange corner of Manchester where the weather is sultry, the men dress as women, and everybody sports tribal tattoos. The office overlooks a drag club, a Turkish restaurant and a college which isn’t a college since it doesn’t have students, just a woman who spends her day stamping certificates. We’re not far from the pub known as ‘Paddy’s Goose’, which I noticed this morning is actually called ‘The Famous Paddy’s Goose’. I admire their bravado.
Yesterday was taken up with high level meetings and lunch at a restaurant called ‘Albert’s Shed’. Apparently, the shed used to belong to a man called Albert who used it to store his tools. He only moved out after they agreed to name the restaurant after him. I can’t help but feel that Albert got a raw deal. Not only did they renege on their agreement and name the restaurant after his shed but it was a shed bigger than most people’s homes. Air conditioned too. Albert should have managed his property portfolio more carefully, what with real estate prices in the fashionable Castlefield area of the city. He would now be living on the Med, having his shovels polished by supermodels.
The meal itself went well, beginning to with delicious shiitake mushrooms. The waitress must have heard the joke before. She didn’t react when I pronounced them ‘shit-ache’, which is closer to how they were written on the menu. I then made the mistake of ordering their ‘spiced pizza’, which I expected to be a slice of bread with a little topping. It was, in fact, a full pizza covered by red chillies (possibly the Dorset Naga). I spent the whole meal blubbering into my jug of iced water and seeing visions of Albert and his shovels.
Possibly the most interest part of the meal was the other customers: a large group of men wearing big collars and even bigger shades, pinstriped suits over bodies honed by months in the gym or prison yard. The person buying lunch looked over and muttered ‘no doubt they’re in property’. I wasn’t so sure. If an armoured car gets taken down in the next week, I can identify the suspects. They all ate ten ounce sirloin steaks at £16 a pop.
I will return to normal blogging activities over the weekend. Until then, I’ll simply sign off.
The Famous Dick Madeley.
Friday, 7 August 2009
Restautrant Review: Albert’s Shed, Manchester
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
5 comments:
I say, Madeley, what's the SP on gaining access to the Magical Shed?
I refer, of course, to your own, not the pale imitation tucked away in some unremarked north western side street.
Your blogging activities 'limited'? After months of nothing, I can't keep up with the prolific rate of genius emerging from your twinkling fingertips nowadays.
Hogansgoat, the Magical Shed is a place for works in progress and, to be honest, I haven't been in there for a while. If I ever start to use it, I will send out invites. At the moment, it's an empty shed.
Lola, I've yet to find that balance between productivity and laziness. Sadly, I'm forced away two days a week, and spent about three days recovered. The other two days, however, I'll blog like crazy.
Albert's web page comment that they offer a secure environment is somewhat intriguing. Just how dangerous is the average eating establishment in that area? Are there metal detectors upon entry? Do they have seatbelts on the chairs? Airbags in the tablecloths? I suppose this all means it's priced out of my range of course... I'll stick to the old fashioned dangerous meals (i.e. with family at home).
Don! Long time, no hear!
Yes, it is an odd boast. I think they can only mean the slight railing they had which separated their outdoor dining area from an adjacent area populated by non-customers eating from a barbecue stall. I'm sure a man in engineering could afford to eat there. Just buy one order of pizza and cut it in half.
Post a Comment