Shoddy Services

Dear Boltvault,

On a recent motorway trip from Birmingham to London I heeded the advice of the Highways Agency and fearing tiredness could kill, took a requisite rest at the Welcome Break services situated at junction 8a near Oxford.

Having first battled my way through the assortment of bikers, travelling sports teams and caravan-towing pensioners in the car park, I then made my way to the toilets which were akin to something you might find in a Delhi slum. After several minutes attempting to hold my breath so as not to pass out from the aroma of Ginsters Pie-fuelled excrement produced by long-distance lorry drivers and hitch-hiking students, as well as the overpowering stench of urine usually found only at a ginger persons convention, I managed to make good my escape progressing into the National Queuing Championships also known as the food hall.

It was here that I spent a mind-numbingly dull 45 minutes waiting to be served by a spotty-faced Polish immigrant in the ironically named Burger King who after presumably guessing at what I had ordered due to his inability to understand a word I was saying, served me up what appeared to be a shoe sole covered in spunk and weeds with a side order of cardboard strips and a cup of boiling bum gravy. At this point I cracked and laid waste to the immediate area with the Uzi 9mm I had hidden beneath my raincoat.

Needless to say I am now incarcerated at Her Majesty’s pleasure and as I while away the hours between other cons spitting in my meals and being buggered senseless in the showers, I stop to wonder then how the owners of the humorously-named Welcome Break have never been sued under the trade descriptions act. Tossers.

Brian Pitchfork,
E-Wing, HMP Bullingdon.