Dinner at Chunkie's

Having agreed, against my better judgement, to meet McGuck for dinner on Monday evening, I am slightly put off by his choice of venue: A Chinese restaurant with a fast-food twist on Dame Street. Let's call it Chunkie's. McGuck has just been handed a plate of what looks like an appetising meal of chicken, assorted vegetables, fired rice and a yellow sauce. I sit opposite him on the plastic seat and squint up at the menu above the counter.

"Anything you recommend?"

"Yes. I recommend you get the hell out."

Always the joker.

"To eat," I say.

"The prawns are good."

"I don't eat anything that came out of the sea."

"Jesus. The ribs."

"Too messy."

"Good god. Beef with black bean sauce then."

I capitulate and order the beef. I tell him about the hum drum of the week at work. He tells me about his job. (He works in some government agency. I'm not allowed say which one. As a result, he thinks he's Batman or something.)

"I'm going to Norway this weekend," he says.

"Really, why? Are you visiting your brother?" His brother lives in Norway. He ignores my question, or just doesn't hear it.

"I'm going to bring back some vodka. About eight litres. Will I get you some?"

"Isn't there a limit on that?"

"To hell with the limit. I'll use my dark influence."

My food is delivered to the table. Dark brown watery stuff on one side of the plate, fried rice on the other. Thin strips of what may have been an animal at one time are hidden in the brown. We debate the merits and quality of Norwegian vodka (as opposed to Finnish) while I begin to eat.

"I'm also going to visit my Brother. He lives in Oslo, you know."

"I know."

"It's his wedding anniversary."

"Does he have any kids yet?"

A pause. "No," he says. "Unless he has hidden them from me." He thinks about this for a moment and I can see by the way his eyes have clouded over that he is lost is in one of his fantasies.

"Quick," he hisses, "my brother's coming, hide the children in the attic!"

With an almost imperceptible turn of his head, he is himself again, although a version of himself within the fantasy.

"David, it's me, I-- what's that noise coming from the attic? ...Aha! Children! So, you have children. Why have you kept this from me? Now you will pay for this treachery!"

At length, McGuck describes the firing of the house and how he will sequester the children from their relations for their remaining days.

"Why can't we see our daddy, Papa McGuck?"

"Your father?! He doesn't want you anymore. He left you for dead in the ashes of your burnt and smoking home. I was the one who saved you, I am the one who takes care of you! I am your father now..."

"You know," I say, "this meat tastes like shoe leather."

"You're impossible to please," says McGuck.

My stomach isn't right for the rest of the evening.