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BATTERED HADDOCK March 2003 The waitress was one of those young bare-midriff jobs. "Do you have any proof you're a pensioner?" she asked, with the arrogance that the youth of today seem to have in abundance.      The Trouble and I had gone for an evening bar snack to 'celebrate' my birthday, although being sixty five didn't seem to me to be much cause for celebration. There was soon to be even less cause for celebration.     We had been to the Red Lion a few times previously. The food there isn't bad, although the menu is limited largely to 'baked potato with' meals, but the main reason we had chosen it above somewhere with a more ambitious bill of fare was because it was within walking distance of our home, an advantage which also enabled us both to have a decent drink without fear of being breathalysed. A further encouragement was that pensioners and their spouses qualify for a twenty five per cent discount on their meal. Before ordering I had thought it prudent to stake my claim to this right, hence the question from the waitress, which had taken me by surprise.     "Pardon?" I said, noting that her knickers were showing above the waistband of her trousers, and inside out too unless they've started putting the label on the outside.     "Anybody could say they're a pensioner," said the bare-midriff job. "I need to have proof."     My first thought was to point to my rapidly balding head of grey hair, tell her at length about my prostate problems, take my false teeth out and put them on the table and say "How's that for starters?", but before I could The Trouble had stepped in and said: "That's all right, we'll pay the full price."     "Suit yourself," said the waitress.     I couldn't let that go without getting in at least a little dig at the minx. "We are not suiting ourselves," I told her, "we are suiting you and your disbelieving nature, which is just about all I have come to expect from little madams like you with a ring through their navel."     Whether it was my little outburst that was the cause of what followed or whether she was just a stupid awkward little cow I don't know. Probably a bit of both.     "I'll have a baked potato and beef casserole, please," said The Trouble, polite as always.     "I'll have the same," I said. Then I noticed they had a blackboard special, battered haddock and chips. "No, hold that. I'll have the battered haddock. With a baked potato."     "We don't do baked potato and battered haddock," said bare-midriff.     What was this? "You have battered haddock, don't you?" I said. "And you have baked potatoes?"     "Yes," she said. "Both. But not together. The battered haddock and chips is a special, we can't mess about with specials."     "I'm not asking you to mess about with it," I said, "All I'm asking you to do is to replace the chips with a baked potato."     "That's messing about with it," she said, quite uncompromising.     I considered the problem for a moment. I was aware that it wouldn't be easy to crack; after all I was dealing here with someone who hadn't even the brains to put her knickers on the right way, let alone see sense. Nevertheless I managed to come up with a solution. "Could you do me a battered haddock and chips, and leave off the chips?"     She thought about this for a moment. "You'll have to pay for the chips," she finally said.     "No problem. Could you also do me a baked potato and a beef casserole, but leave off the beef casserole?" Then, anticipating her answer, "Which I know I will have to pay for."     "Yes," she said, though now a little uncertainly, with the air of someone who suspected she was somehow being talked into something but not knowing what. She was.     "Good," I said. "Could you then take the baked potato off its plate and put it on the plate that contains the battered haddock, then bring it to me"     Her reply was immediate. "That's battered haddock and baked potato."     "Yes," I smiled.     "We don't do battered haddock and baked potato," she said.     "Come on," I said to The Trouble, "we're going."     On the way home we got a takeaway from a Chinese; sweet and sour pork, beef in black bean sauce and fried rice. I asked the owner if I could have a discount even though I couldn't prove I was an old age pensioner. He said he wouldn't give me a discount even if I could prove I was Mao Tse-tung.