Just a word concerning Shaorma (and dogs).

Anyway. Let me take you on a little improvisational adventure around the bowels of the human psyche.

Shaorma. If there is one that Scotland needs it is Shaorma.

I take it that you have all seen the pictures of the Romanian Kebab. Romania is significantly closer to Greece and Turkey, the home of Kebab, than Glasgow. So comparatively I think it is safe to say that weedjie kebabs are something to be proud of.

That is until you try the Shaorma. Please. I beg you. Go to your local koh hi noor, your Amran or Flames Tandoori. Ask them to prepare you a mare Shaorma. It contains a precarious mixture of donner style bone dry chicken, bean sprouts, lettuce, cherry tomatoes and... chips. All smothered in a provocative sauce. And something resembling pita bread. There is no turning back.

N.B. I do not and cannot condone Gordon's filming of stray dogs. Notice my absence from the film. That was the largest public gathering we have witnessed to date. I behaved like any adult should and if you ever find yourself in Eastern Europe I recommend strongly (and I cannot emphasise this enough) that you do as I did; run away and cry.