Pass the Gaviscon

Keith is good at cooking but, unlike a lot of good cooks, isn't too fussy about eating the odd substandard meal - which is just as well when I'm doing the cooking, but we'll gloss over that one. However, even he has rapidly come to the conclusion that culinary standards in our local hospital leave a lot to be desired. In fact, he wondered aloud yesterday, in between plugging himself full of pain relief with the self-administering contraption beside the bed, how 'they' in the kitchens could possibly manage to ruin food so efficiently. In Keith's case, although I haven't mentioned it to him yet, this could be an advantage as it could result in weight loss which could only be beneficial - if he stops forcing me to smuggle in chocolate and crisps, that is. But I had to smile yesterday. The man in the next bed, having demolished the hospital lunch, then proceded to tuck into pie, chips and mushy peas, brought in for him by his visitors. Within ten minutes the plaintive cry was heard:
"Nurse, could I have some Gaviscon please - terrible indigestion!"