Robert McNeil

WIT'S end

As you know, two things sum up modern society. The first is the tendency for citizens in busy buses, planes and aircraft departure lounges to put a bag on the empty seat next to them, thereby depriving a fellow traveller of a place to rest their weary buttocks.

It is a selfish and evil practice, and highlights the alienation and individuation that have their root cause in the anti-social phenomenon that is the family. You say: "This is impressive stuff, Rab. It's almost, like, sociological. Can you explain what you mean by the term 'individuation'?" No, I cannot.

The second thing that sums up modern society is the deal. You wish me to be more specific. I will try, even though I am rather busy at the moment. I am referring to the plethora of meal deals, three-for-two deals, all-you-can-eat deals and so forth, which have made modern life infinitely more complex than ever before.

I have no objection to the deals per se. It is the inflexibility of them that irks me to distraction. Why, for example, can I not buy-one-get-one-free in a bookshop? All they offer are three-for-two deals. But I may not wish three books. As you get older, you find fewer and fewer books are of interest to you, as you realise that the answer isn't out there, and that all the literature, art and philosophy amount to just so much prancing about before you up and dee.

I am merely proposing that I buy one book and get a free one, instead of buying two. There is only one book of a difference and, since one book is clearly of no value – otherwise they would not be giving them away free – where is the problem?

Still, I suppose a bookshop is the last place you'd expect to find intelligence. You've as much chance of finding a brain cell in a bookshop as you do of hearing a Scottish accent in an Edinburgh branch of Waterstone's. However, I have not come here today to talk to you about intelligence or accents. My focus instead is on a meal deal offered in a sit-in fish and chip shop that nearly drove me mad.

To put it in a nutshell, I had wanted fish, chips and salad. However, according to the deals on offer, I could either have fish and chips or fish and salad. But never the twain could meet. The establishment was inflexible on the point, and the assistant was one of those teenage girls upon whom logic and morality are wasted.

This did not stop me trying. As regular readers know, I am a man of strong principle, forever trying to right wrongs, in the face of the ignorant mob, apathetic yahoos, and those who take advantage of evil situations for their own benefit.

I told the chipatrice: "I don't care about the £7.95 deal. The price is immaterial to me, as I have been busking all day. I want fish, chips and salad."

Assistant: "We have already explained the situation to you, sir. If you do not desist, we shall be forced to summon a constable."

Heroic columnist: "Don't speak to me like that."

Assistant: "OK, I'll speak to you like this: eff off."

Handsome columnist: "Now you're talking my kind of language. Fair enough. If you don't bring me haddock, chips and salad, I am going to stand on one of the tables and bawl inanities and crude suggestions."

A terrible tension filled the air and, after several minutes of silence, I could hear police sirens approaching. I am a proud and brave man. However, I know when to back off in a craven manner. I held up my hands in a gesture of cowardice. "All right," I said in a surprisingly high voice. "Forget the fish, chips and salad. I'll have the soup, the buttered roll and a cup of tea."

"Is that the soup and roll deal or the soup and tea deal?"

I gave up. On the bus home, the one remaining seat was taken up by someone's bag. "Hoy, baldie," I said. "Did you buy two tickets?"

Baldie: "No, sir."

High-minded columnist: "Then remove the effing bag before I do something you might regret."

Baldie: "Like what?"

Logical and intelligent columnist: "I don't know. Tickle you behind the ears or something. What does it matter? Just do it."

Fortunately, he complied. I was weakened by a lack of fish and chips, and could feel my powers fading. The last thing I needed was a fight with a recalcitrant baldie. Back home, I found an only slightly smelly haddock in the fridge, some limp salad and, in the freezer, some of Mr McCain's home-made-in-the-factory oven chips. What to have, though? The fish and salad? Or the fish and chips?