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Hardee’s times

April 29, 2013

I need to have a word with the chaps at Hardee’s. 

For the Brits reading this, Hardee’s is a of McDonalds-type establishment which seems to be the burger place de choix over here in Islamabad.  We went for the first time on Saturday, *eager to immerse our children in the culture and society of Pakistan/it was the only option available in the near vicinity and we were feeling lazy [*delete as appropriate].

 

Things to note about Hardee’s:

  1. Their strap line is “eat like you mean it”.   I’m not entirely sure what it means.  I’m never even slightly half-hearted about my food.  Not me.  Meal times are sacred to me.   I felt that this was a place in which I would do well.
  2. It is, apparently, “the home of the charbroiled thickburger”.  If they ever decide to conquer the UK I might suggest a change of syntax; perhaps “the home of the nice, juicy and fairly sizeable burger” might be better.  At the moment it sounds as if they only harvest burgers from particularly stupid cows.
  3. The chap serving A burst into song.  We’re not sure what the song was, but it came complete with actions and a backing group of smilers from the rest of the staff.  A retreated at speed, slightly terrified.

 We sat down and waited for our number to be called.  I think we may have missed it, because in the end a security guard standing nearby took our plastic number sheet and brought our food over.  Now that’s service.  Once we’d replaced the diet coke (scum is, in my opinion, undesirable in a beverage) and eaten like we jolly well meant it, we decided that that was probably enough calories for the foreseeable, until we spotted Cinnabon and thought that there might be just space for coffee and…oh, a little something.

 

*******

 

Toilet training is going too well.  H is now obsessed with poo.  Everything he says or sings has, or can be incorporated to have, a poo element.  The final straw was the rendition of “Old Macdonald had a farm ee i ee i oh; and on that farm he had some poo…”.

“That’s enough!  Please can we have a song without poo.” I begged.

“This is a song without poo….a song without poo…poo, poo, poo, poo, poo, poo” came the reply.  Sigh. 

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