Planet Soccer, W1

With the bites from the Soldier Ants finally beginning to recede, it seemed appropriate to venture out to some fine eateries again. Someone had mentioned about an Association Footballing themed restaurant called Planet Soccer, and you know me, always one to venture outside my comfort zone and experience new places and lifestyles. Therefore I immediately tried to call Filly and get her to come and pick me up, but there was no reply from Little Dozey-on-the-Wold and her mobile was switched off. So once more I had to rely on public transport, or as I like to call it, my Mother's Austin Maxi. It took her a little while to get to me from Esher (her cataracts are getting a bit opaque) but she was more than happy to drive me the mile or so to Planet Soccer, and didn't complain too much during her wait outside.
Now apparently Association Football, or Soccer as it is colloquially known, is the most popular sport in England today. Now amongst my close friends and acquaintances you'd swear it was Point to Point racing or Rugger, but I am ready to be proved wrong on this. Planet Soccer has a very glitzy entrance foyer with pictures of many famous players from over the years. I stopped in front of one with a man with blonde hair, with a red shirt on, sitting on the shoulders of his sweaty team mates in what looks like the old Wembley Stadium (if one's memories of Live Aid stretch back that far!) holding aloft a small solid gold trophy. The man has the biggest broadest smile you have ever seen. Another diner walked past. I asked him who the man in the picture was. He snorted.
"Who do you think it is? Pongo-fucking-Waring?" and he stalked off. So that's what Pongo Waring looked like. I add the photo above so that you now can also amaze your friends.

The manager of the outlet is a certain Mr MacPherson, a very proud Scotsman, and he has recently updated all the decor of the restaurant, he tells me. Gone are the large signed photos of "Gary Lineker, Jimmy Greaves, Alan Shearer and Bobby-sodding-Charlton" apparently, and he has replaced these with a huge mural depicting, according to him, England legends such as "Carlton Palmer, Martin Chivers, Dennis Wise and, the God, Barry Venison." There are also very large photos of Chris Waddle taking a penalty, Stuart Pearce taking a penalty, Gareth Southgate taking a penalty, David Batty taking a penalty and even Darius Vassell taking a penalty. The food seemed to consist mostly of Scottish staples like "neeps and tatties", "haggis" and "deep fried Mars Bars". Mr MacPherson seemed to be in a quite advanced state of inebriation, but was keen for me to know of his plans for the future of the restaurant. This included to addition of such dishes as "Jan Tomasevski Goulash", "Tony Chicken Curry" and "Alan Meat Ball". He has also written, produced, directed and acted in a short video called "The MacTerminator" which he wants to have played on a loop tape each night to the diners in the restaurant. In it, the central character, a Scottish man called Mr MacPherson, builds a time machine and goes back to 1965 and assassinates Geoff Hurst.

The food and ambience were generally good, but Mr MacPherson's attempt to start a fight with anyone in an England shirt did make me wonder if he was perhaps the wrong chap for the job. On my way out I was inrtigued by another new picture added by Mr MacPherson. It showed an England goalkeeper with a long pony tail falling backwards into his own net, with the ball just out of his reach.

"Thatsh Ronaldinho's goal againsht England in 2002. Shtill makes me piss myshelf everytime I think about it..." slurred Mr MacPherson. "40 yards, must have been! To lob David Seamen from that far out..." he downed a glass of Scotch, then fell backwards into his restaurant through the revolving door. Time for home.

Mother dropped me off in her Maxi and then trundled off into the night at 15mph. I finally managed to reach Filly and told her of the evening I had just had. She seemed genuinely interested for the first time in a long time. I told her about all the strange photos. I even told her about seeing Seamen lobbed from 40 yards - she snorted loudly and mentioned something about that being even beyond the skill of Dave. Perhaps she knows David Seamen...?

Should you wish me to visit a sporting/food outlet that you know about, then drop me a line to gileslondongetsstuffed@yahoo.co.uk and maybe we can have lunch sometime soon. Your going home in a Fortnum and Mason's Hamper! Bon appetit!