AFTER a day’s work, the workmen in the van sing about what would be a nice accompaniment to a steakhouse grill …
Will it be chips or jacket spuds
Will it be salad or frozen peas
Two others join in with:
Will it be mushrooms
Quickly followed by:
Fried onion rings
And all together now:
You’ll have to wait and see!
A brief tale featuring the driver, the choir and the steakhouse grill
The poor driver looks totally fed-up when the first workman breaks out into pre-dinner-time song. He shakes his head and his face has the look of ‘Not again – I hear this every evening … why can’t you just bloody-well wait til you get home to find out?’ The whole shebang has got that broken record feeling. The driver just wants to put his foot down and dump his colleagues off ASAP!
The colleagues (the dinnertime choir)
Make no mistake these men have been practicing for a decent length of time (probably every evening for the last 18 months – same time and place to the annoyance of the driver). The first two lines of the song effortlessly rolls off the tongue and the timing of the others joining in is impeccable!
The Steakhouse Grill
Pure ground beef that looks like a steak and cooks like a steak. It’s what the men have been craving. There was no doubt the steakhouse grill would be on the on the plate but what would partner-up with it? The men were hoping that chips would beat-off competition from jacket spuds, salad, mushrooms, fried onion rings and frozen peas. The final question on the advert is ‘What will you give your old man with his steakhouse grill?’ – 80s advertising.
The driver has had enough – he slams his foot down on the accelerator pedal and goes around bends and corners like a drunk Formula 1 driver. The choir in the van are thrown around like puppets and the dinnertime song is replace by shrieks and bumps. He then drops-off his colleagues one-by-one by – a loud screech of the wheels is heard as he reaches each drop-off point. As each colleague stumbles out the van (battered and bruised), the driver sings ‘Will it be chips or jacket spuds …’
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