We ate Dinner at Bill’s, a modern style eatery in the Westfield Shopping Centre in Shepherd’s Bush. I’d describe Bill’s as “modern” as it epitomises the latest thinking in how to deliver volume food to the masses whilst maintaining enough style to still make money. This manifests itself via a menu bristling with evocative adjectives describing a perfect balance of traditional and less traditional fayre, all proffered by casual, confident and trendily dressed staff who whizz around, taking your orders with the latest data collection devices which wirelessly let the kitchen know what’s to do. Items are invariably “crispy”, “spicy”, “crumbed”, “spiced” or “creamy” and served in a novel way, like “in a jar”. I would describe the decor as post industrial, sentimental, anglo-continental rustic with a palpable faux-wholesomeness. Everyone feels at once both “out to dinner” and yet “at home”, in the homeliest of senses. And, the formula is clearly a great success. A constant but reassuring din is created by multiple footfalls stomping on wooden floors with the accompanying sound of clattering cutlery, as it blends with the clicks of frantic fingers running over the diners smart phones. They’re telling all their friends and acquaintances, those who are not actually there, that they ARE, and this is what they are doing. However, I’m not sure this approach is the best thing for folk from the preceding generation whose clarion call seems to be “what happened to that old world, the one unspoilt by progress?”. Undaunted, we keep spirits up by offering explanations as to why the thing is served in a jar and what the difference is between “spicy” and “spiced”, without once suggesting it’s just ‘marketing’. Eventually, things are ordered, they arrive and are duly consumed. The verdict: “Interesting”. Without losing a beat, it’s time to go and I’m pressed to call for an Uber cab. Over-efficient, as ever, it comes way too quickly, causing our ailing group to limp and puff as we head for the rendezvous thinking he’ll go without us. He doesn’t go. In fact, he’s a lovely bloke with time to help us into his cab and to enquire as to whether we’re having a nice evening. Nice? Yes it was, in an “interesting” sort of way. I still can’t work it out, is modern life rubbish?