Overview

Mandatory happiness is the new malware. Woofer, the dog-themed platform that turns life into barkable goals, has gone from peppy to predatory. Its runaway offspring, Grot, is sanding the edges off reality and forcing whole cities to smile on cue. The Department of Cosmic Balance would like that to stop. Politely. With forms. Enter an unlikely field team: John Longbottom - perfectly average, professionally underwhelmed; his refusal to be inspirational is a strategic asset. Anna Quent - precise, unflappable, and armed with grey cards, a spectrum scrambler, and meeting minutes. Alfred - Primary Guide Entity (Feline Division). Sapient cat. Sardine specialist. Jazz traditionalist. Pussy Galore - contractor, elegant chaos in a white-tiger catsuit; carries her own translation orb and, when required, a rocket launcher; invoices promptly. Their brief is simple on paper: steady the Apathy Constant, seed enoughness into Woofer's loops, and avoid touching anything golden and toilet-shaped. In practice it means hours of queueing, amphibian paperwork, security drones with friendly vinyl eyes, pixel-bright corgis and beagles, and a front-door infiltration of Woofer's Milton Keynes ""Experience Hub"" that demands a daily intention on entry. Logistics are handled by Colin, Payroll Amphibian - Tier 3. He drives like speed limits are a suggestion and time is a corridor, delivering the team to Watford annexes and other places that do not officially exist. He also brings the right forms, the warm saucer, and the quiet reminder to ""use verbs with Entwhistle."" As Grot spreads through hashtags, wellness apps, and enterprise pep, the team threads a path through the Kennel Labyrinth and down to Grot Prime, a cold room that tells the truth. Sardines of Minor Revelation become both tool and temptation. Bureaucracy becomes a battlefield. And somewhere between a legacy quarantine stack and a very beige meeting room, Pussy returns from multiversal exile with claws, competence, and history - especially with Alfred. The Curry Sauce Singularity is an urban-fantasy caper about resisting algorithmic enthusiasm with tea, patience, and strategic indifference. It's a satire of hustle culture, a love letter to queues done properly, and a reminder that balance often looks like choosing not to perform. Expect: London by night; lifts that never arrive; Watford annexes that always do Amphibian civil servants with lanyards and time-privileges Robot dogs and motivational avatars that weaponise cheer A sardine-powered countermeasure that makes systems remember how to idle Found-family loyalty, quiet courage, and one red cap with opinions Pussy Galore blowing the right thing up at the wrong moment for exactly the right reason Read it as a stand-alone or as Book Two of the Fast Food Trilogy that began with The Chip Shop Paradox. If you like dry British wit, bureaucratic comedy, light sci-fi with a pinch of the arcane, and cats saving the world by doing slightly less than expected - with a highly competent feline counterpart and a frog who knows the good shortcuts - this is your next cup of tea. (Contains British spelling, mild peril, strong feelings about biscuits, amphibian driving, and absolutely no motivational chanting.)

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