‘For what doth it profit a man if he is in the revered street of the late-night takeaways and yet he finds himself short of the dosh to get himself the most holy of kebabs?’ The Prophet Nhigel (May his Plums Dangle Mightily) stared at each of his disciples in turn as they stood swaying in the street outside the kebab shop. Well, all of them except – it seemed – Barry the Tosser.
Nhigel looked around and saw that Barry was in the alley down the side of the supermarket. He seemed to be inducting a lay sister into the Brotherhood of the Mates by the method of the secret handshake. At least, her hand was moving up and down rather rapidly and from the way Barry was chanting the name of the Lord with increasing regularity, Nhigel assumed it would not be long before Barry anointed the acolyte with his holy sacrament.
Nhigel smiled to himself when he looked back at the mates. Big Paul held his hands out to Nhigel, heaped in them was all the spare change the mates could muster between them.
‘Is there enough there?’ Stan the sceptic said.
Nhigel counted. ‘It is a miracle, brothers!’ Nhigel opened the door of the kebab shop. ‘Come let us all feast upon the bounty of the Lord and sing his praises for the wonder of the mighty kebab as we then meander our way homeward.’