I do love Gulab Jamons, but clearly not as much as these guys……..
For Christmas this year I was given a nice wedge of Rupees and decided to take my regular trip to the Croydon sales; gammy leg in tow.
Now then, I expected the vast crowds; what I didn’t expect was that Croydon had turned into a bargain standoff between the entire local Indian community and a healthy chunk of it’s African counterparts.
You had to be there to believe it, my Asian bretheren used several family members to blockade everyone else whilst the matriarchs rifled through the bargains for their men; had I not waded in and reached over my five-foot-nothing ancestors I would have come away empty handed.
I managed to get two pukka coats, a couple of fine silk ties and a rather snazzy shirt; then rapidly left the Maelstrom that was Debenhams!
They’ll probably still be there right now; the whole thing felt like i was watching a cutting-floor reel of a Tarantino film that had stylishly spliced scenes from Zulu and Ghandi!
One thing I couldn’t work out though; where were all the honkeys?!?
A message from his holiness:
Swami Prahabudbudwiser Antikrish III
My children, this Diwali I would respectfully request that you all break with the usual traditions and celebrate my immense greatness by lighting lots and lots of cherry scented candles.
When you have at least 666 candles lit, commence throwing fireworks at each other (no Catherine wheels) until not a single air bomb or rocket resides in your shop windows. Finally, before the midnight hour signals the end of the day, you must kiss the first cow that you see! Not Jersey cows though, they are bastards! ::spits::
Follow my instructions and you will all have a peaceful, happy and prosperous New Year. Or your money back!
Kiss my brown self, owwwwwwwwww!
My plan for Diwali was to ride over to my pal Alan’s and let him test out the snazzy video camera gadget that he’d installed on his motorbike.
The ‘Dogcam 520 pro’ was fitted in the rear (best place for it Alan?) to pick me as I travelled along the winding roads of Kent; in reality the footage only lasted a mere 6 minutes because Al used cheap batteries from Hong Kong and the majority of what did get recorded showed him struggling to get the cover back on over the top of the camcorders hidey space thingamy. Riveting stuff!
I have of course included the footage below so that Mr McSpielberg may receive plaudits for his directing skills. Getting my own ‘Dogcam’ may well be on the cards; I suspect that it could have some very amusing applications!?! I say, get your mind out of the gutter, I’m a respectable man you know!
Right, I’m off to scoff my commemorate the Festival of Lights with a good curry.
Now available in HD
No Anglo Indians were harmed in the production of this film.
………..although I was arguably exploited?
Hmmmmmmmm. Why does Prince Adam suddenly get a slight tan when he changes into He-Man? My theory is that I reckon he’s actually Anglo Indian.
It all fits. Big strapping build, blonde hair and then ‘BANG’, sword gets waved about in a camp fashion, lightning all over the fucking place, a deep voice and a slight peanut tan appears out of nowhere along with really confused chameleon hair which can’t make up it’s mind if it’s dark brown or heading towards ginger. Definately Anglo Indian.
Check out around 0:32 seconds for the tan change……
I also suspect Orko may be from Pakistan originally. My sources tell me that he lost his legs in a freak freight train accident and eventually learned to levitate thanks to the power of his nag champas.
Cringer is just a cunt, and if he was in a bar fight I’d glass him (you’d have to use a crossbow or something with range if he was Battlecat though?)
Sorceress = TITS!
There was a paratha from Dehli
Who liked to sit and watch tele
His bhaji friend said “yo!”
“you’ve let yourself go!!!”
“And doubled the size of your belly!!!”
Tits from the motherland!!!!!!!!!!!! (and India’s answer to Timmy Mallet?)
Ooooh, a bit of Antikrish research ensued this Sunday afternoon all because of my friend Beth’s status update on Facebook.
Beth said she wanted a monkey (assuming it was because a friend went to the zoo and not due to anything unwholesome), anyway, to me a monkey is £500 (my dad and brother also use these terms a fair bit) and after educating her on this I eventually pondered where the saying came from originally.
So, a bit of background. Various people from London (mainly working class) have different names for certain denominations of money, some get their meaning from cockney rhyming slang, for example, a fiver is a ‘lady’ (cockney rhyming slang for Lady Godiver), a tenner is a ‘cockle’ (Cock and hen = ten).
There are also terms for money which don’t have a link to rhyming slang, like a Pony (£25), a score (£20), and a monkey to name but a few.
Imagine how chuffed I was to find that the term ‘monkey’ and ‘pony’ all stem from British colonialism in India. How cool is that?
“The term monkey comes from British soldiers returning from India where the 500 rupee note had a picture of a monkey on it. They used the term monkey for 500 rupees and on returning to England the saying was converted for sterling to mean £500. The 25 rupee note had a picture of a pony on it, hence why a pony is £25.”
Nice one Beth, you monkey lover!
Hyeeeeeeeeeeeeeyeeeee! Hey rat fans!
I plan on getting back to my healthier eating this coming Monday, so, in order to bid farewell to my more debauched culinary habits I thought I’d have lunch down the Indian buffet today as something of a fatboys swansong. Go out with a Bang(la) so to speak.
The restaurant in question is located about halfway down Surrey Street Market in Croydon, Surrey (UK), Alex first dragged me there in my teens one lunchtime from Boots and I’ve kept up the tradition by going down there on and off over the years (I have survived many changes in ownership). In fact, I was unaware it had reopened as it’s been closed for a year and just came under new ownership; I only found out when Alan had popped down there last week.
Spice Express (commonly known as Spice Cafe amongst a few of my Indian friends at work) is very funky, £4.99 all you can eat, I’d heartily recommend this latest incarnation (especially the lamb curry, sadly wasn’t particularly hot but the quality of meat and flavour was great). Very, very clean, fantastic staff, practically open kitchen, perfect.
When the 6 of us entered (My Guv’nor Alan, Doug, Dan, Leonie and Sam) we were greeted by a rather bizarre sight……….current Mayor of London Ken Livingston was schmoozing it up with Croydon counsellors for a PR stunt!.
It was absolutely packed, not by consumers, but his trendy lefty politically correct ‘HR ticksheet’ entourage (Or ethnic bingo as I like to call it…..”Have we got a Chinese woman? Right, tick her off, Black man? Tick him off, Big tall white guy standing at the back looking at the curry dishes wearing glasses, no, no, not ethnic enough, he’s clearly about as Indian as I am” !!!guffaw guffaw!!!) were all extremely animated and looked to vie for a photo opportunity themselves with Dobby the House Elf, right in front of the bloody buffet!!!. We tried to manoeuver past them but it was tight let me tell you, the brown-nosers just wouldn’t move!
I think they must have heard my stomach growl as they shifted to reveal the hotplates of destiny; and it was well worth the wait. Still, no sooner had Ken left the establishment the heavens opened up and I suspect he got rather drenched considering it was hail/heavy rain. Karma is a lady and she sleeps in my bed 🙂
General point of advice to anyone, don’t get in my way when I’m hungry; I’m a divine agent of curry and I’ll stab you up with my poppadom of deceit!
P.s. I’d vote for Boris Johnson, sorry Ken.
When people ask about my surname and all that jazz I eventually get asked what Anglo-Indian means. Whilst classically this is more relevant to Al, I generally consider myself under the umbrella of the term given the broader use these days.
Yep, bored again. Think my brain has switched off due to all the work I’ve been doing lately, and of course in anticipation of having a nice holiday.
I have often heard rumours that my local town hall in Wallington, Surrey housed various concerts and gigs fronted by some of my favourite bands. According to local sources Hendrix, The Who, Eric Clapton (blah blah blah……) have all played there so I decided to google it.
I didn’t find anything I could view at work (bloody I.T.!) but I found a couple of reasonably interesting facts about my hometown.
The name ‘Wallington’ derives from the Anglo Saxon “Waleton” meaning “Village of the Britons”. The part of Wallington that I live in is called Waleton Acres so I found that rather quaint. I’ve always known that Carshalton (the town next to Wallington and place of my birth) is in the Domesday Book, but Wallington appears as of 1086 and was held by William the Conqueror. He must have had big hands?
The local area itself has a great deal of history, especially Carew Manor which once accomodated Anne Boleyn, eventual wife (poor thing) to Henry VIII. Oliver Cromwell also passed through Beddington park; you can find various bust and scultpures of Cromwell on buildings in the area. Lavender oil was also produced on farms locally. Lovely.
Perhaps my favourite bit of local history is that Jeff Beck, guitarist with 60’s group the Yardbirds, was born in Wallington and lived in Demense road which is quite literally the road next to mine. How funky is that?!?!
If only I had been born 20 years earlier. “Hello Jeff, fancy being in my band mate? Yep?” twaaaaang!! “ROCK!”