My local Indian restaurant is of very good quality - good food, excellent wine list, excellent service and superb Irish coffee. It is rare that I go in there and not bump into an acquaintance or two.
There is one drawback to the curry house, namely our local pimp. I think he is in there every night, always sitting at the table inside the door, usually with one or more of his tarts. He's a thoroughly nasty man. I have mentioned him before. He has it in for me - because he once came over to talk to Jimmy when we were eating and I asked him to leave us alone as we ate, he thinks I'm stuck up, and now makes a point of sending one of his tarts over to talk to Jimmy as soon as our main course arrives. (When I was there for our local Labour Party Xmas curry he made a point of telling Jimmy the next day that I was out having a good time. Problem is, my fianc� is not a insecure violent controlling bastard and is completely unperturbed about me going out for the evening with Labour Party people...!). I am fascinated by why this guy thinks he is so ace when the only women he can get are ones that are so desperate for drugs they'll screw anybody. He thinks I'm 'stuck up'. He couldn't get a stuck-up woman if he tried.
At one stage, in the restaurant there was just us; Pimp and Tarts; and the local vicar and his family. As I said to Jimmy, only on Brixton Hill could you inadvertently end up at a Vicar and Tarts Party.
Soon we were joined by a former comrade and his girlfriend. We didn't speak. There is a tension between us. I'm one of the (large) group of people who think he's a prat, and got thoroughly annoyed by his name-dropping of obscure backbenchers on Election Night 2001. Gosh that was nearly three years ago. I'm becoming increasing conscious that events that seem to have taken place just yesterday are, in fact, receding into the mists of time.
At the next table were a twenty-something, newly moved into the area, and her father. They were having a fascinating conversation about 'Mummy'. It seems that Mummy is a recovering alcohol. Recovering, as in, for years - since the children went to Uni - the problem has been ignored and she now has the teetotal zeal akin to the reformed ex-smoker. Father seemed at his wits' end, although he said that when, every morning, you have all your faults listed to you, you tend to become immune to it. The young woman's brothers have refused to talk about the problem, and were shocked when she raised the subject. I did not sense that the father, who seemed a decent sort, had any affection, love or, indeed, respect for 'Mummy'. It's sad that a relationship can disintegrate into two people living in overlapping circles of silent misery.
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