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“Don’t you dare ask for chips or so-help-me-God, I will slap you,” said Sophie Ellis-Bextor.

“People usually need more than his help if they slap me,” joked William Shakespeare.

Sophie Ellis-Bextor looked unnerved.

“I’m joking,” confirmed Shakespeare. “If I were ever going to beat you, I’d have done it after Music Gets The Best Of Me, wouldn’t I? Hmm?”

Ellis-Bextor seemed slightly reassured by this.

“Such a shit song,” said the bard, mostly to himself.

The pair stood outside the Fat Duck, plucking up the courage to walk inside.

“What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever eaten?” asked Sophie Ellis-Bextor to distract from the awkward situation.,”

Shakespeare leered at her creepily, but sensed he should answer sensibly. “Peacock,” he stated with conviction.

“Peacock? Really? What’s it like?”

“It’s all right,” said the bard, perfunctorily.

The pair stood there and stared at their feet.

“Come on, let’s go in,” said Shakespeare. “That jelly of quail won’t keep.”

“No chips,” said Ellis-Bextor, taking his arm.

“I don’t even like chips,” said Shakespeare. “That’s a bullshit joke.”

As they walked through the door, a man approached them.

“Don’t talk rot,” said Ellis-Bextor. “Everyone likes chips. I’ve seen you eat chips plenty of times.”

The maitre d’ stood patiently.

“Yeah, I eat chips,” said Shakespeare. “Of course I eat chips. I’m not saying I don’t eat them. I’m saying I’m not that bothered about them.”

“You said you didn’t like them,” countered Ellis-Bextor.

“Jesus, don’t take everything so literally. When I say I don’t like chips, I don’t mean I don’t like chips. I mean-”

“So what do you mean?” asked Ellis-Bextor disdainfully.

“I mean – for fuck’s sake – I mean… Okay, you were saying that I’d ask for chips like it was my favourite thing in the world. I’m saying I would never do that.”

“Why? Why wouldn’t you do that?”

“Because I’m not that bothered about chips. There’s about a million things I prefer.”

Ellis-Bextor released Shakespeare’s arm and looked skyward. She breathed heavily through her noise and opened her eyes widely in an effort to prevent the first tear from forming.

Shakespeare addressed the maitre d’. “Just tell me about the menu before we sit down,” he said. “Just name one dish. Name one thing that I can eat. Something special. Something that will convince me this is all worthwhile. Something unusual that I could never get anywhere else on earth.”

“Good evening, sir,” said the maitre d’. “Tonight’s most intriguing culinary experiment is baked steam.”

“Baked steam?” asked Shakespeare.

“Baked steam,” confirmed the maitre d’.

William Shakespeare and Sophie Ellis-Bextor stared at each other for a long moment, silently communicating something in the way that only those with unbearable levels of intimacy can manage.

Finally, Shakespeare turned back to the maitre d’. “Okay,” he said brightly. “We’ll give that a bash.”

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Posted by Alex On November - 15 - 2011

2 Responses to “Heston Blumenthal fails to entertain at the Fat Duck”

  1. D Charlton says:

    Bextor breathes through her ‘noise? Is she some kind of velociraptor?

  2. Alex says:

    She breathed noisily through her heave.

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