‘Cue Modern Barbeque, one of the restaurants at the High Street Central strip, offers large meaty masterpieces for the hearty-eating macho gourmand. Its high ceilings are decorated with cow hide and black chandeliers with elegant twisty spider-like stems, and to the side is a bar teeming with bottles of liquor. We were presented with a free appetizer bowl of spicy popcorn which we greedily consumed, and the rest of what we ordered came in such huge tasty-looking portions that I wanted to lick even the photographs that I was taking of them.

However, my astute friend pointed out before I could wolf down my pasta, that there was a thick strand of hair nestled cozily amongst my noodles. And indeed there it was, smiling up at me in black horror. I usually ignore (do not abide by me, young reader) the finer strands swimming meticulously in my food in restaurants, as I fear that the service crew will strategically plant even more sinister monstrosities upon my complaint of such harmless specimens of human filaments. However, young reader, this piece of hair was an entirely different story in itself that upon your first gaze of its sheer thickness, you could be certain that this strand belonged to a werewolf. To keep myself from losing my appetite for gourmet carbonara forevermore, I told the kind server who maintained his English-speaking efforts throughout the entire night that there was this wolfen strand in my pasta. And to his dismay he apologized with a shadow on his face and brought my dish back to the kitchen to replace it within five minutes. I smiled and thanked him, especially since the replacement dish appeared within said time, and beheld me with twice the beauty I first gazed upon it with. And hair-free, Will (who as it happens was the waiter’s name) (and Will himself was bald, which makes the hair mystery exceedingly frightening) returned to inquire if everything was satisfactory, and with a full heart I commended him for the excellent way in which he managed the terror that was the foreign object from the pits of hell in my pasta. Now, young reader, it is with great pleasure that I recommend to you ‘Cue at High Street Central. It is an adventure waiting to happen.