Least Likely Lunch Ever Known: Western Australians Achieve My Tuscan Villa

Monday 2nd September 2013

Villa Wednesday was the day – the Western Australians lunched at the villa. Brunt, never met before, was driven down from Florence by his son, Clay, a friend of Prince Dmitri’s from the Accountancy firm.  With pugnacious physique, a curl to the lip and a slow suggestive smile, Clay has gay-porn-star quality. In fact he is hitched to a senior woman from the Accountancy firm where he nolonger works. He hosts poker parties, although not with guns. On this occasion, however, Brunt was the star turn. The man was epic. Hearing that Angus Willis was planning to light the villa pizza oven for the pizza evening, he said, ‘I’ll tell you about pizza.’ So it began, like one of those gargantuan movies of yesteryear, ‘How the West was Won.’ The bringing of pizza to Western Australia: the seizing of a failed restaurant premises at knock-down price, the amazing novative business model, now adopted by all the major chains, where the pizza parts were prepared in one location in the morning then van-ed out to the restaurants, who merely had to assemble and cook (try it yourself). All Brunt’s own invention. The spirit that made Australia. The competition was crapping itself. Their nudgers were shrivelled to dried shrimps. Brunt himself developed the pierced oven floor to ensure a crisp bottom. He drilled in person. His margins were up by 40% in the first six months and after a year he had developed the multi-phase pizza or pizza wheel offering in one pizza all known pizza toppings and more including tandoori chicken.

Otherwise Brunt encompassed metal prices, antiques and his son’s nudger (more later). ‘Are any of you Jewish?’ he enquired. Laura Malcolm said, ‘I only look Jewish.’ This was encouraging. ‘Sitting in Chicago,’ Brunt explained, ‘in their spiders’ web, little black spiders. That’s our Jewish friends who fixed the metal markets in 2007 as we’re all paying for now, thank you very much.’ ‘Aw, Dad,’ said Clay, ‘we’ve been through all this…’ ‘We have and we will again,’ Brunt forged on. ‘Your Mr Solomon and your Mr Fishbaum…I think I know where to point the finger….’

At this point, Brunt, who had taken a little salami pre-lunch elegance prepared by international food stylist, Angus Willis, removed himself from the table which was situated on the villa lawn. With my back to him, I feared to turn round . For sure he would be vomiting, like that nice Conservative lady in Little Britain. Only in this case it was worse because he had actually eaten a morsel that had been fingered by a poofter. No choice but to spew conspicuously mid-lawn.

Returning to the table, Brunt continued: his early European travels, his modifications to pizza, his switch to antiques, accompanied by his son, Clay, who shipped out the antiques from England, although it was Brunt who made the killing with his beautiful presentation, in his own home: people thought they were buying a part of a stately home. Amazingly Brunt took lunch. Why bother? I was thinking, if it’s all to be vom-ed up later. In the meantime, there was a considerable phase re: the German deli near Clay’s place in London. Bound to fail. Easily £350,000 worth of equipment that’ll be going for a song any minute now. ‘I’m not interested,’ said Clay.

At last lunch was over and Brunt withdrew to the mid-lawn. He’s been saving it up, I thought, for a big show. But then the truth emerged. It was fag breaks he was having.

I said, ‘I must broadcast live from the mezzanine. It’s Dainty Lady TV. I’m doing an item on how table trimmings are looking for the Autumn season.’

I could hear the Brunt voice through the hedge as I backed out. So it was that I just caught the end of the nudger story. Clay had been disturbed by a wasp during the night at their hotel in Florence. The lady owner had come with a can of wasp spray, sprayed so vigorously she had asphyxiated herself as well as the wasp, fallen on top of Clay and the wasp and thus been assaulted by two nudgers, Clay’s and the wasp’s – which, Brunt was certain, was her object all along.

Afterwards, none of us could believe that we had actually heard this.

 

 

Posted Monday, September 2, 2013 under Adrian Edge day by day.

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