I’ve never been a kebab man. Nor a takeaway man. Until lockdown. Now, just to punctuate the weeks of endless time we’ve had to live through, I’ve found myself popping round the corner for ready-to-eat food – Chinese on Saturdays, Turkish on Tuesdays. In each place, it’s been like entering another world. As I enter the kebab outlet, I’m greeted without fail by huge smiles and beaming faces. To them, with not very much English at their command, I’m “Mr Tuesday.” As I wait for my order to be prepared, I look with fascination at the trimming of the “stacks,” the meticulous cleaning of the counters and grills, the spontaneous exchange of greetings with all who come in. This is a community centre. No doubt about it. It all happens beyond language. I now know more about Anatolia, Ankara and Istanbul than I ever did before. And about the uncles and aunts and children of those who’ve served me. Once home again, the food, succulent and tasty, satisfies and gratifies us as we prepare to watch the next episode in the box set we’re currently watching. Tuesdays have become pure Turkish delight.