Sunday, 24 February 2013

Can't a Brother get a little peace? There's a war on the streets and a war in the Pizza East.

I’ve had a little moan about Pizza East on here before. In fairness, my gripe was more my fault than theirs and was down to me not reading the menu properly. However, as I have yet to receive a box of my family’s fingers sent by some shady, multi-national pizza review watchdog, I’m happy to keep dishing out unfair, emotionally influenced scores like a recently divorced, newly alcoholic Olympic gymnastic judge. 

Being the Jesus-like pillar of white-light virtue, decency and altruism that I am, I decided to give Pizza East a second chance. Also I was totally Romania.  As in: ‘beyond Hungary’. As in: ‘really hungry’. As in: ‘I stayed in on Saturday night and watched cartoons until I fell asleep in my clothes’. 

Anyway the pizza was better this time. Largely down to me learning from my past mistakes and making sure I chose one with tomato sauce. I think me and Pizza East can finally get along again, and so, as a token of our rebuilt friendship I’ll offer them the greatest gift one person can give to another besides news socks. The gift of advice. And this is it: Pizza East, you shouldn’t have called yourself Pizza East because it really limits your ability to expand into other parts of the city*, unless you’ve already copyrighted Pizza West, Pizza North and Pizza South, but I doubt you have. Also what if you want to open a restaurant in another city? What if that city’s Eastside is gross? What if it’s Swindon? That whole place is gross. Don’t go there.

I guess that wasn’t really advice and more a damning critique of their business model but it’s too late now, I’ve written it and the thing with writing things on the internet is that once you’ve typed it out, it's there forever.

8 out of 10

*I have since been informed that there is in fact a Pizza East in West London. As a result I'm putting 'Research' on my to do list, just below 'Pay TV license 2008' and 'Die a quiet death at sea'.