The restaurant dining room was magnificent; two big chandeliers hung from the ceiling and bathed the immaculately laid tables in soft light. We were shown to our table by a smartly dressed waiter and handed menus. However, before we had chosen what to eat, dishes began to turn up and quickly filled our table. There were dishes of tremor, slowness and depression among others. Dismayed, I called over the waiter, "What's this?" The waiter answered simply, "Parkinson's, sir..."
I then got up from the table and walked into the kitchen. I saw the Chef shouting at his kitchen brigade; ignoring this I stepped purposefully to an empty space along the kitchen worktop and gathered ingredients from the Parkinson's larder. I started to chop vegetables and prepare the meat for the coping and acceptance dish I wanted to cook and eat for myself.
Once completed, I carried my dish to the table and proceeded to eat it, in between reluctant mouthfuls of the Parkinson's food. In this way I avoid emotional indigestion...