It is slightly odd about KFC, isn’t it? I mean, I know it stands for Keep Fingers Crossed (and DHL stands for Dumped, Hidden Lost), but eliminating chicken from the franchise altogether does look like a slight tactical error. Now, I’m not without sympathy. And truth to tell, even Pat’s Mart suffers from the occasional stock shortage. But I suspect that if I only sold one product I’d try a little harder to make sure I had some of it.
And, you know me, I even did my best to help out. I keep a couple of broilers down on the allotment but they haven’t been much use to me since that time I slightly overdid it on the genetically modified corn - one of them can now bench 150lb! Only joking, as usual. They must have thought it was Christmas when I offered to take them out for a run in my Bedford Rascal, kindly borrowed from Mr Grayling the transport secretary.
Needless to say, our little journey ended up at the local branch of the Colonel’s favourite eatery, where it turned out all the staff had kindly agreed to take enforced holidays. Well, Penge in February does have a special allure.
That was quite a dilemma, let me tell you. But I didn’t get my Slightly Commended award in the ‘Innovation’ category of the 1972 ACS Awards for nothing, and in a trice I’d drained the sump on the Bedford, shredded a loaf of Hovis (delisted) and set up PFC, my new fast-food brand. Take-up has been slow, but just you wait until I perfect my own blend of 11 herbs and spices (nine of them will probably be salt, but hey).
If only they’d put Mrs Tacon in charge of farming, too. We could have teamed up. Tacon Belle? Perhaps not.
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