‘Small doner please’. Three words I don’t ever recall saying sober in the queue at Jason Donervan, but then it’s only 8.30pm on Saturday and the night is young.
Well, perhaps not quite so young by the look of some of my fellow customers. A few of the students waiting for their cheesy chips and chicken wraps certainly look as if they’ve been in the pubs for a while.
And then there’s the poor chap in the old school tie, slumped on the bench in front of the van. He’s being fed slices of doner meat by his friends, some of whom are, of course, filming it on their phones for future amusement.
