Faulty Towers, the dining experience

Dear Mr Faulty,

I write with regards to the dining ordeal I experienced this week. Never before have I been so very insulted. Never have I been so cajoled, bullied, manhandled or shouted at over the course of a meal. The service was awful and the food merely above average. Furthermore, one of the delightful group of ladies I dined with did not receive her soup until at least three minutes after the arrival of my own starter. Had there not been such mayhem occurring throughout the restaurant which, for fear of being struck by a flying bread roll, I was forced to watch, I might easily have begun eating out of turn.

Nor, sir, was I any more impressed by the standard of your staff. The waitress—your wife—while clearly aware of the proper workings of a high-class restaurant, preferred instead to make jokes to the diners about the subtleties of your marriage. Without wishing to pry, Mr Faulty, it would be remiss of me if I failed to comment that the marital difficulties which you and your wife so obviously experience might, by some individuals, be construed as utterly farcical.

Your foreign assistant, Manuel, demonstrated far deeper levels of incompetence. Not content with secreting in his pocket a small rodent, you may be interested to learn that one diner was tricked by the Spaniard into performing the part of an enraged beast in a rudimentary enactment of a bull fight. While, I will admit, I did allow myself somewhat of a titter at the time, I feel obliged to express outrage on behalf of the unfortunate gentleman. Far more pressing, however, is the issue of your use of cheap foreign labour, and the linguistic difficulties entailed therein. Your failure do deliver instructions in a manner which the poor chap could understand, you will accept, resulted in consistent errors of communication. I laughed solely because the alternative was to cry.

A harrowing dining experience indeed, Mr Faulty. I can only assume the applause with which my fellow sufferers greeted the final course was that of utter relief, although I find myself at a loss to explain exactly why several of your erstwhile guests rose from their seats to underline this communal release of anxiety. In lieu of this, I demand compensation. A three course meal at your restaurant would prove satisfactory.

Yours sincerely

Evan Beswick