“Pizza Inspector’s Report”

Having a deep and abiding interest in both pizza and cricket, it is a rare pleasure for me to be able to combine both of these pursuits, but it was my fortune that such an occasion presented itself this summer when I accompanied Far From The MCC on their annual cricketing tour of West Somerset in the capacity of Cricket and Pizza Observer.

Stopping for a pizza in the village of Williton after a game against Stogumber, the team and I were able to sample first-hand the friendliness and generosity of the locals, as well as the finest pizza to be found in this part of the country. The “Get Your Pizza Here, You Fucking Cunt” is a quaint little pizza and burger place on the road to Dunster. The Formica décor is understated, the atmosphere congenial, and the thick rope which stops customers sitting at the tables is a tasteful burgundy.

Upon our entering the restaurant, of necessity in dribs and drabs as the team in three or four cars made their way late from the ground at Stogumber, the store manager immediately sprinted out the rear of the store, his place at the counter taken by a young woman of sunny disposition who at once began to take our orders.

“Can I help you?” said the girl, no doubt impressed by our cricket whites and general air of robust and youthful vigour.

“Uh, can we order some pizza?” asked one of number.

“What, do you think this is some kind of pizza shop where you can just walk in off the street and order a pizza and we’ll take your money and then cook food for you? You must be fucking joking, do you really think I’m going to stand here taking an endless stream of your pissing orders you bunch of fucking losers?” said the girl with a chirpy smile.

“Nine-inch ham and pineapple, thanks,” said one of the team. “Plus chips and a can of Coke.”

“Thanks a fucking lot, you turd!” said the girl pleasantly. “That’ll be six hours, and fucked if I’m taking any more fucking orders in the next three weeks after this! Jesus fuck, all I ask from this place is a little peace and quiet and a chance to warm my feet against the pizza ovens. What do I get instead? A bunch of fucking wankers ordering frigging pizzas, Jesus, what fucking next?”

With that, the girl charmingly slammed the till shut and threw it across the room, killing N. Hebbes and M. Westmoreland on the spot.

Later, as we milled in the cosy shop next to their lifeless forms, waiting until dawn for our order to arrive, several other customers who came into the shop were politely requested to fuck off, and one woman was casually thrown into the oven and cooked as a pizza topping after asking for directions to Porlock.

Some vege shit without any Scotch Bonnet accessories.

When our pizzas did at last appear, they were absolutely delicious, especially I. Howarth’s Scotch Bonnet, which was so tasty it burned a hole in the lining of his gut and began to ooze out of his stomach onto the pavement along with his shredded intestines. As a connoisseur of pizzas, let me just say well done to I. Howarth for being brave enough to try the notoriously hot and spicy Scotch Bonnet pizza, and may he rest in peace.

All in all, I can thoroughly recommend the “Get Your Pizza Here, You Fucking Cunt” in Williton to any large party of travellers. For best results, visit in groups of ten or more and be treated to the best of West Somerset hospitality and charm.

‘The Pizza Inspector’