Monday, October 17, 2011

Seeing things clearly


Be for me a stronghold to which I may ever resort;


send out to save me, for you are my rock and my fortress.

 Deliver me, my God, from the hand of the wicked,

from the grasp of the evildoer and the oppressor.

(Ps 71)

Says it all really.

Friday, June 24, 2011

Still getting it off my chest

Sorry to continue with this theme. If you think it's too self indulgent just skip it. For me it's good therapy.

On reflection, a lot of the tension arose out of my sense that the Yorkshire Ministry Course was providing me with what the church needed and the church’s sense that it was not but without engaging with the college authorities to see whether the modules I was sitting could have a more overt Lutheran content. It struck me that my fellow students might well have benefitted from such an addition perspective.

As the only non-Anglican in the year group I was inevitably drawn into the timetable, processes and concerns of my Anglican friends as the year group progressed through the course towards ordination and many of the course’s activities were linked to that rhythm. I don’t think my church authorities fully appreciated this.

So much of what we did was linked to the fact of the Anglican ordinand’s service of ordination within a month of graduation and it was hard for me to distance myself from that and not to be influenced by and caught up in that rhythm.

One simple example is that of the selection and purchase of ordination stoles: there were regular visits to the course on college Wednesday evenings and at residentials by clerical outfitters. We all went. Should I have stayed in the library when everyone else was selecting their clerical apparel? (What? And miss the chance of seeing Dr. Bob trying on a berretta and a Canterbury cap?) I should not have bought stoles I was told. Too presumptuous. Where would that have left me in the session where those stoles were blessed? Sitting in the back row on my own? Should I have not attended those (non-optional) sessions relating to ordination and the first curacy? What should I have done about the graduation ceremony where the details of each graduate’s first curacy were included in the programme? Should I have asked for some variation? Perhaps I could have asked to receive my certificate privately and not as part of a public ceremony further isolating me from my peers. Should I have asked for the Ember Days list to be varied to reflect my unique position? How did my church expect me to feel during these sessions which were already charged with a heady mix of spirituality, group dynamic intimacy and emotion? How could I fail to be affected? How could I possibly opt out and separate myself from the rest of my group at this time?

Not one of the Vocations Committee came to that ceremony.

My church leadership were to all intents and purposes insensitive about these issues: they didn’t fully appreciate what the college were doing and they didn’t understand the course’s provision for its students in the run up to graduation. Neither did they understand the effects of these activities on me. Most significantly they did not take the trouble to engage with the college which I think is a huge failing of a Vocations Committee in a small denomination with few ordinands.

At the same time they would be critical of me for being influenced in my expectations and attitudes to ordination by the programmes the college were providing. “We don’t do things in the same way as the Anglicans.” Is no help when the people who are saying that see you maybe twice a year and are not offering meaningful support or alternative programmes and interventions to what is being offered weekly at college. It is quite hard - and certainly not at all helpful - to be told what you should not be thinking, doing, feeling and opting into in relation to ordination preparation “because we do things differently”, on the course you have been sent to, when no practical alternatives are offered. Lots of “don’ts” with no “dos” are no help at all.

There seemed to be no awareness of the difficulties these programmes of work and activities caused me when I had no idea when I would be ordained, and therefore no sensitivity, just criticism because I was influenced by them and had my expectations raised. “These are the things we don’t do.” Yes, but you’ve sent me on a course which does.

When I raised these issues I was reminded that I had not “been sent” on the course. “The Committee is in no position to recommend any programme of training.” How can you abrogate responsibility in this way? What a cop out. I am a mature adult with a family and a full time job heading for non-stipendiary ministry. The obvious questions from my point of view are:

a) You can't be ordained in any real church without the proper training so ...

b) Where else am I going to go for ministry training other than the regional centre which offers a part time course?

c) How have I reached this point if the church has not sponsored me and supported my studies? I was not an independent student.

It is preposterous to disclaim responsibility by saying “We didn’t send you”: mere semantics and laughable for a Vocations Committee to say “We said you could go on that course if you wanted to.” as if there was an alternative route to ordination.

No one wanted to take responsibility which is very convenient because that meant that no one could be held accountable: I “chose” to attend the course, which is odd because from YMC’s position I was a sponsored student as evidenced by the church paying my fees. No wonder I have felt dislocated from this process and felt that attempting to communicate with the Vocations Committee on the topic was like trying to knit with water. What a ludicrous position but one from which, nevertheless, the Vocations Committee would not depart.

Strangely, pointing these things out did me no favours.

“You don’t understand how we do things.” Clearly not. How about trying a bit harder with the explanation?

There was clearly resentment at the challenge that systems were not good and the committee have responded in a knee-jerk way that has been defensive, and that defensive reaction inevitably perhaps, has not been to acknowledge poor systems and therefore not to be proactive about analysing them with a view to improvement. In addition, my experience of this group is that they never move on: it’s all logged away to be trotted out against you at some future date. There is never a line drawn under a discussion and a fresh start although on more than one occasion I have felt lulled into such a false sense of security.

“Who is this upstart? Who does he think he is?”

This is not a collaborative venture. Those in authority have no investment in learning from the foot soldiers. There is no culture of taking feedback without feeling threatened (but a significant culture of offering punitive criticism). There is a clear division between the leaders and the led and the leaders are always right.

“But this is how we do it. This is how we’ve always done it and it has served us well so far.”

Has it? Has it really?

Given that the LCiGB corresponds in size to a small Anglican Deanery some form of 360% appraisal could work well. In a small denomination where, perhaps, some key characters have dominant roles and personalities – or entrenched behaviours and attitudes, there needs to be some way of assuring that the appropriate use of that authority is managed and that people are properly accountable. Authority has boundaries and poor personnel practices should not be tolerated.

The downside is that in a small denomination such as this you have to be brave or very secure in your position to challenge authority.

Monday, June 20, 2011

Reflections on bullying within the church.

Below are my reflections of an event that happened two years ago. I mention it now because my cyber-friend Robert, an American Episcopalian Priest, warned me of the stages of bereavement. He was right: this has crept up on me of late and when I think and write about it I feel emotional and I feel sick in my stomach. I don't usually see myself as a victim and that description doesn't sit easily with me in comparison to what I know others have gone through and continue to go through at the hands of the churches. My situation is trivial in comparison I know. Nevertheless part of the healing process is to be able to talk about the hurt and to acknowledge it: there is therapy and a move towards wholeness and healing there.


So, back to October 2009: It has been a couple of months of limbo: I have graduated and attended Dr. Bob’s ordination in Sheffield and young Mike’s in York. It was great to celebrate with them and to meet up with the others as we turned out to support each other. I felt slightly sad nevertheless, because I have no idea when I will be ordained and this is becoming a pastoral matter. The church is not taking its pastoral responsibilities to me at all seriously. Key figures will say will it is but they will be deeply irritated at the suggestion. Those same figures will probably also claim that the church’s pastoral care of me is someone else’s responsibility. They are the prime movers in what is going on but they do not feel the need to be proactively pastoral.

Pastor ***** continues to be a great help but I don’t see why I should be his pastoral responsibility. It is just luck that we are friends – and fellow sufferers, united in our concern and distaste at how we feel we are being treated. My wife's new vicar, Steve, at St. Angst’s is also being a trouper as is James from St. Atrophy’s. As ever Dr. Bob, Hilda and Stuart, who graduated with me, are keeping up a prayerful support and the congregation at St. Small’s is beginning to ask difficult questions. I am struggling to explain to the many people who ask, what is going on.

It feels odd that I derive my support largely from those outside of my own church.

I am invited to meet the Examination Committee, chaired by the new presiding Bishop in Leeds on the day before my birthday. I am told very clearly that this will not be my final examination; it will be a meeting to plan for the future. I ask a number of times whether I need to prepare anything for the occasion and am reassured that it will be just an informal chat. There is no agenda, or if there is, I don't get a copy. I am in first and ***** will follow me. Bishop **** recommends that we both progress to the next stage: I should be ordained curate and ***** should progress from his curacy to be able to take charge of a congregation in his own right.

~ I am in a state of shock. That hour was probably one of the worst of my life. It started like this:

“Do you feel it is ethical to blog about your students?” This from my mentor.

I have discussed this with my Head Teacher and we have come to an agreement. I will never name the school. I will be vague, even misleading about its geographic location and I will change the names of pupils and those staff who wish. I will send drafts of school related posts to the Head and put copies on the staff notice board to give my colleagues the opportunity to challenge what I have written. While I might express frustrations I will not challenge, criticise or question school policies or the leadership team or the governors in their management of the school.

Let me repeat the question. “Do you think it is ethical to blog about your students?”

It went from bad to worse. I was accused of being arrogant for having contacted St. Angst’s about hosting my ordination and suggesting dates. Who did I think I was? The fact that I had done this after discussion with Bishop **** and with his blessing was clearly not known about, or was conveniently ignored.

My blog came in for much criticism and at one point I was instructed to take it down. “What might a Lutheran from Latvia say, after landing on your blog and discovering you had been to the Leeds Gay Pride in clericals? This could cause great damage to the church.” My defence that my blog clearly states that my views are my own and don’t represent the policy of any church or denomination was snorted at. I refused to take it down as I did not feel that this committee had the right to demand that I should. I offered the compromise that I would go back over it and remove posts which referred to life at St. Smalls.

“I can imagine a situation where people would feel uncomfortable talking in your presence because what they said might then appear on the blog.”

I think that’s a fair point, but Bishop ****, Pastor ***** and Pastor ***** all know that I host a blog; I show people what I am writing if their names appear in a post and several members of the congregation read it and one regularly comments. No one has expressed any concern to me other than to recommend that I be cautious. I think I have been.

“What is your blog for?”

It’s my reflective journal. I got used to writing a reflective journal when I was doing my counselling training. I share it online because the perceptions of others are helpful.

“It’s more like washing your dirty linen in public, especially when you are implicitly critical of our systems.”

Other people seem to find my blog helpful. Can you only find negative things in it?

“I don’t understand why someone would want the world to know their every thought. It smacks of attention seeking.”

No one’s forced to read it or to comment.

They are incredulous. I don’t see that my blog is much different to the blog that the presiding Bishop hosts. Actually it is: she regularly blogs about church life but I feel to point that out would not be wise. In fact, so much on the back foot am I, that I don’t say much at all.

"The Facebook Group, Ordain Jack Parkes." That must go.

That's not my page and I am not a member.

"But she's a friend of yours. You have influence."

I can ask. But it's not my page and she will do as she thinks best.

The reference my Head Teacher provided comes under the microscope. They have had this reference for the best part of two years and have never referred to it before. My Head had commented that on occasions I could become entrenched in my opinions. This was seen as a huge black mark by one member of the committee.

“I should want to pursue that.” I was told. Again I was too taken aback to reply. My Boss and I get on very well and he has been very supportive of me throughout this process: he didn’t sign up for a priest on his staff. It’s all about context: when I am defending my subject areas against the consequences of changes in policy and financial cutbacks, I will be entrenched. I don’t want our A Level teaching to stop because it is deemed economically unviable. I don’t want to have to manage a team of eighteen conscript teachers who have a free period or two that can’t be allocated to their main teaching subject but who are then given to me to run a GCSE Citizenship course in that time. Of course I will be entrenched in my defence of my subjects. I know exactly the occasions when I have been entrenched in my opinion with my Boss.

This goes on for an hour. Four of them and me.

At one point I ask, rather weakly (although I am rallying): Is there nothing positive in my references?


“Oh yes, there is much that is good.” I am told but nothing is elaborated. The script seems to be to concentrate on the negative – or perhaps more to the point, to infer a negative from some minor comments. After all that’s far more important than the positive even though the positive so significantly outweighs the negative that the negative is barely discernable. Nothing that was written by Dean Gustav in Tallinn was mentioned, very little of what my Head or Fr. John wrote in my final report from the Yorkshire Ministry Course, nothing from Bradford College or the Leeds Philharmonic Society, Nothing from James’ reference from St. Atrophy's or from my former vicar, Ray, at St. Angst’s, nothing from the congregation and staff at St. Small's. What’s going on here? This is character assassination. It’s also bullying.

Poor Fr. John is subsequently so concerned about how one thing he has said has been taken out of context that he feels compelled to write to the committee to clarify his remarks.

The report on my parish placement that I had written as an assignment for YMC, and of which I was very proud, was dismissed in one devastating comment: I had noted that the linguistic divide in mother-tongue speakers and immigrants and second generation Lutherans was an issue which needed to be tackled.

“Have you any idea how damaging that would be if it fell into the wrong hands?”

It was an essay for my course. Only you and the tutor for that module have a copy. I can’t see how it would fall into the “wrong hands”. I didn’t say.

“You don’t understand the sensitivity of this issue.”

“We feel your attitude to us is too challenging.”

Do you wonder when this is how you behave? I didn’t say. You’d prefer I was a doormat? I also didn’t say.

“We think your written approaches to us are often confrontational.”

And this isn’t? I didn’t say.

What I did say was: I find communication in this organisation very poor and you are reluctant to confront that. I hear one thing in Leeds and another thing from London. I feel like piggy in the middle. Do you wonder I get frustrated? I am tired of not knowing where I stand or what the time frame is.

“We are concerned that you may not approach conflict within your parish as pastor in an appropriate way.”

What? Like you in this meeting? I didn’t say. How dare you treat me this way while speculating how I might respond face to face when trying to resolve conflict? I should have said.

The upshot was that I should have a year to concentrate on my role as Lay Minister which would be much more closely monitored than before. We would meet in a year to discuss whether I should progress to my final examination. In addition, and the most embarrassing of all, I was to attend counselling to sort out my impatience and anger! I was mortified, so much so that I could never admit to anyone that I was being sent for counselling: I told my family and friends that it was spiritual direction.


Counselling. They felt I needed counselling! I could not have been more humiliated.

I was told I might not under any circumstances discuss these matters with anyone other than Bishop **** and my wife. These were matters of significant confidentiality. I kept to that for some time but have moved to a position where I no longer feel willing to collude with the sweeping under the carpet of bullying behaviour.

I went home. I didn’t feel I’d been able to process things well enough to talk in detail to my wife and I headed back to meet ***** in the pub after his meeting.

***** had also had a hard time at the hands of this committee. Where I was still shocked, he was angry. We swapped notes and commiserated with each other, both instantly breaking the vow of silence imposed on us.

The bottom line was that Bishop ****’s advice about both of us had been ignored. That tells us a lot about what his views stand for now he has retired. ***** said he was furious when they told him. What a slap in the face.

I had been told I didn't need to prepare anything for that meeting. That was a lie. I needed to prepare a defence.

Happy Birthday.

So the London Team parachute themselves in, ignore the advice and wishes of the Bishop Emeritus, the clergy, the Church Council and congregation of St. Small's, cause chaos, distress and resentment in their wake and return to London.

Job well done then.

"We're in charge now and you'd better know it."

And they accused me of arrogance.

I subsequently doubled the dose of anti-depressants I usually take.

I stayed away from St. Small's for about six weeks and wrote Bishop **** an eight page letter of complaint. It is unlikely that it was disseminated: the man has his own problems.

I realise now that I should never have returned. During the four weeks I am signed off work with severe depression I ponder whether my trust in these people can ever be restored. I also ponder their pastoral ineptitude: if they had genuine concerns is this really the best way that the meeting could have been conducted? Is a kangaroo court really the only way to express concerns or – and I’m going out on a limb here – could there not have been an alternative approach that dealt with areas of concern in a way that left me feeling good about myself and not on the edge of a breakdown? Something perhaps which also concentrated on the positive? Just a suggestion. What do I know? I’m not a Bishop.

A friend who is a solicitor specialising in Data Protection issues advises me that the church has ridden a coach and horses through the part of the Data Protection Act which talks about the balanced use of data held on an individual.

Friday, April 15, 2011

Give it up

One busy Saturday night, we've got quite a few groups in from out of town, stag do's and hen do's mixing in with the locals. There's a little friction inside and we fly in to find a customer on his backside, a little splattered after being smacked up side the head. The DJ tells us that the violent gent we're after is conveniently dressed as spiderman. This allows the team to split, some with the dazed and confused and a couple with me. The gent covered head to toe in a lycra web-slinger outfit, with shaped foam body sculpted panels, is not hard to find.
On approaching him after a whole 8 seconds looking for him, he raises both arms aggressively and tries to take a fighting stance. He finds a doorman on each arm, his torso parallel to the floor and route to the door shortening and clearing rapidly. As he meets the night air, we ease off and his arms come back under his control, he tries to shrug himself out of our never tender embrace. This leads to him propelling himself away from us with all four limbs. Forgetting he's horizontal and without a limb left he falls flat onto his face and padded chest.
Here a gent, who's given up on the dancing and is waiting in the cool for his partner to get her coat, advises very politely that spidey should cool off. The result of the spider human interaction told him rather aggressively to "Fuck off Old Timer". The gent was a little affronted and again politely invited him to chill out. The webbed wonder turned and went to give another mouthful of verbal abuse to the gent. Not unsurprisingly, the gent didn't wait for it to escalate and slotted him a tight fast left jab. Spider man again fell to the floor on his less padded arse.That made us giggle and the gent took his ladies arm and wandered on into the night.
Our super un-hero seems a little aggrieved, but as we retake our stance on the doorway and continue the business of the night, he stands outside the barriers and keeps slinging abuse at us.
The masked marvel wonder was not done however. His anger and tirade against all and sundry continued. The police arrived as they typically do in the small hours and watch his abuse slinging antics for thirty seconds before getting out of the van en-masse and advising him to quit. A mouthful of verbal abuse of the bluest nature led to him being nicked. He didn't go quietly and was once again getting his use out of the foam padding before the cuffs came on and the only thing left for him to climb was the cage in the back of the van. He must have been as shit at climbing as he was at keeping out of trouble, we kept on hearing him falling again and again in that six foot box at the back.

Monday, March 28, 2011

One in a

Hundreds of people come through the door on a normal night. Some venues I've worked at could do 3-4k punter turnover in 4 hours with only half a dozen staff. Most of these will be fine, they'll buy drinks, not steal them, they'll dance and chat and help build a good atmosphere, not lurk, leer and poison a good atmosphere. Depending upon the venue, therewill be a mix of the good and the bad. The challenge is knowing how to tell them apart, how to assess the broad range of folks coming in and identifying the problems. If we need 1000 people in but to do that we'll have to let in 100 bad, there will be more trouble in the venue and more need for doorstaff than if we let only 900 in and they all have a good night without witnessing fights and having to overly watch their bags and drinks we may see all of them back. This can be missed by a manager with a 5 figure sales target for the night but less bother, more fun, longer stays, more spend per head, lower staff numbers, all help hit those targets. There is no secret trick to picking good from bad, watch people, judge people, listen for accents, speech patterns, what they're wearing, how they're wearing it, how they carry themselves, how they communicate internally amongst their group, between strangers and with you. Don't sit and weigh these as you might a hand in poker with half the cards known, get a feel for who you want in and make your calls accordingly. You'll never get it all right, you'll never be able to see the future, you just work with what you do and don't get too obsessed with the one who you're not sure about, don't miss the 10 really bad ones while you're thinking.

Thursday, March 3, 2011

The End

Well folks, I'm going to step back from writing a weekly update. It seems from my stats that this blogs readership is tapering off. The numbers are dropping and I can only imagine the day of the moderate, text only, everyman blog has passed, in favour of fast to digest tweets and more content rich material which I don't have the time to assemble on a weekly basis.
I imagine I have some loyal followers and to you, warm and heartfelt thanks. Occasional postings will emerge when I feel compelled to pass on an anecdote or a rant but the attempts at week by week, weekly postings are coming to an end.

Thursday, February 24, 2011

Swapping a C into punters

If you do a public facing job, over time you'll slowly grow to despise them. You might move to intolerance of them, but slowly they'll get under your skin and you'll hate them. There will always be nice ones, ones that make you smile and have hope there are still decent corners of humanity left out there. Unfortunately these are the rare islands of sanity in a world of self absorbed, self centred, retarded filth that make up most of the drinking public. I know that decent people don't go out and avoid pubs with doorstaff, the sad fact that idiots seem to occupy all the space not filled with even moderately nice people is depressing. I've learnt that even though I hate them, I still enjoy the work. You can look beyond the customers and the sticky floored smelly venue to the act of doing the job well, earning respect and maintaining professionalism. That provides sufficient reward to deal with the punters, with an C or not, and not just give it all up as a bad job.

Tuesday, February 8, 2011

Invincible

I am still amazed by the ability of folks, most often men it has to be said, who in drink appear to become invincible. With a sufficient number of over-strength lagers inside them, they can seemingly do amazing feats of strength, stupidity and self abuse which would leave most sober folks, exhausted, broken or befuddled.
I have seen grown men piggy back two others, at the same time, up a steep rain soaked street. This was done, to some applause, from a taxi queue which he had decided would be too long hence he became the one man hansom cab.
I have seen and heard a gent rip a door from it's hinges with his fingertips after convincing himself the door opened inwards at the hinge side. This involved wrenching 6 screws, three each plate, from their positions deep in a brick wall. The offender and offended door emerged into the rest of the toilet area, with a load crash, to find a troop of doorstaff ready to escort him from the venue and escort the door to a store room until the night was over.
I've seen a gentleman, for surely he was one, punch an outside wall, repeatedly, until the plaster was off the brickwork, his hand was a squishy mess and we were waiting on two varieties of blue light taxi to arrive. He then gave us the finger, picked up his bottle of beer, with the busted hand, took a swill of beer, poured some blood and beer down his chin and sallied off into the night.
Oh for the mornings after.

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

Shut it!

Standing in the doorway, refusing entry to a family gaggle of chav, I really just wish they'd accept reality. That reality being, the entire group, cousins, sisters, uncles and aunts are not coming in. Too much bad hair dye, very visible brands and sparkly things on both boys and girls.
What they do, is make a lot of noise. Some of it is aimed at me and my colleagues, for being unreasonable, 'dickheads', 'useless jobsworths' an similar stream of entertaining nonsense. Some of it is aimed at the previous lot for arguing the toss and getting them all refused. Some are trying to get an understanding as to what the heck is going on, has gone and will be going on. With 20 nasal whining and complaining voices talking across me I really do wish we'd have a decent shout, inside or out and we could leave these muppets to it.

Wednesday, January 19, 2011

Bargain Boozing

I'm not an academic expert in the price elasticity of demand for over strength alcohol in those with alcohol related problems. I'm not publishing papers in the Lancet. I do however deal with a large number of people who have problems with alcohol and an even larger number of people who don't. In the course of my work I've encountered some people who's relationship with alcohol has led to their own death or those of others. I've seen folks slowly destroy their physical and mental health with drink. I've commented here before on the minimum alcohol price and my support for a sensible minimum. It's affect on me and my line of work would only be positive. The use of licenced front-line doorstaff is almost exclusively on licensed premises serving non-minimum price drinks to those with or without the money to pay for it.
What concerns me about the recent moves on minimum alcohol unit prices is two fold. The level it is set at is ridiculously low. The inability to retail at below the current taxation level doesn't set a sensible bar to problem drinkers. To be so low on funds, even benefit derived funds, to not be able to pickle yourself daily, is not stopped.
The second worry is that this will be brought in, then over time, once the general public has accepted the idea of a minimum, this minimum being the tax minimum, the tax will rise. The minimum price will go up, the problems with cheap drink will fall, the price will rise again. All the time the tax on all drinks will rise and the many punters, daily, weekly, monthly or occasional, will be paying with every drink. This will hurt hard the vast majority who drink without problem and the minimum unit pricing, will hurt everyone.

Monday, January 10, 2011

The Quiet Time

With the elf filled fun of christmas and the frankly violently drunken new years out of the way we find ourselves in the cold, quiet nights of January. The tightness of wallets after the excesses of presents, food and festivities leaves very few having big nights out. The few we do get heading our way are often those on weekly pay or benefits and are not big fans of prudence. The nights are cold, wet and sometimes snowy, streets are quiet, venues are quiet. All in all not an inspiring mix for a mid-week night on the razz.
Early finishes seem to be the fashion of the season, some even before I start.

Tuesday, January 4, 2011

Food Review

At the end of a shift the hot fast food options are limited. I'm not gonna be bothered with a pot noodle at 5am and it's just a little too early for the greasy spoon by the bus depot to have the hot plate frying. This leaves me with a few select takeaways to indulge my hunger. Pizza's, chicken, kebabs and burgers. I have sampled all of their various delights and I feel I should relate a couple of my findings.
The cheap and cheery late night pizza places often don't use real cheese, more a cheese substitute involving some lovely fish protein. Not particularly noticeable when inebriated but very appreciable when sober and eating this in a brightly lit kitchen back at home. Cheesy chips often fall foul of this too.
Garlic sauce is not for every day. Savoury and enticing to even the most resilient pallets. The garlic carrier may vary between mayo, yogurt or some satanic middle ground between the two. There may be green stuff included, mint, coriander, anonymous green. The garlic can boost your immune system, reduce your attractiveness to women. Day in day out it does however seem to penetrate your blood stream, in a hot sweaty club this is not the way to go.
Too many carb's just before bedtime, even if it takes you to 7am to get your head down, sit around and give you a gut. Good to fuel you up early doors, bad to lay down on. For this I avoid the battered chicken, the garlic breads and the like.
The decision then lies between the burgers and the kebabs. The solution for me is the chef's special burger, the dirty hybrid of cheese burger and kebab. One or two beefburgers, by this time of the night reheated on the griddle, not typically cooked from fresh, processed cheese slices, bringing the cow derived content to about half the event. Then doner kebab meat, lamb based grilled fun with high fat, salt and taste content. Top it with salad, onion, chili, garlic, tommyK or otherwise and enjoy in a sesame seed bun. Highly calorific fuel to makeup for the hours spent sweating, dashing about a busy club and wrestling drunkards.