The Gurniad gaurds the Gurdian

As the first forkful of scampi sidled gingerly into his mouth, my friend's head snapped still in surprise, then began to oscillate gently in ecstatic bemusement. "I can't believe it," he whispered. "I didn't give the place a chance. When the waitress said, 'Is there anywhere you'd like to sit?' I wanted to say Melbourne. Or Belmarsh. Anywhere but here. This is bizarre."

Firstly, forkfuls of scampi don't sidle any more than turds flush; angrily or no. Secondly, what's wrong with his friend's head? Thirdly, 'ecstatic bemusement'?; was 'hysterical contemplation' busy that week? Fourthly, friends don't let friends become esprit d'escalier proxies. Fifthly, an unexpectedly good restaurant is a 'nice surprise'. Bizarre is a Fortean stick mag for gothy youth.

It wanks on and on (with erratic repetitiveness) and the world of dining, and indeed the entire world, is a worse place for it. I'll now sigh in a disappointed fashion.