i have known my local newsagent for close on twenty years, i even have a nickname there, slam or slammy (based on the fact i used to whinge when my copy of the british basketball magazine, slam, wasn't available).
one of the, many, areas contention we have is over food. he likes good food, i just like food. so whenever i tell him i was having a curry in brick lane he just snorts and tells me it is not authentic indian food. (to be fair to brick lane it doesn't really try to hide the bangladeshi origin of much of the food on offer, the clue would be in the 'banglatown' tag for the area.)
my newsagent contends the best indian food is available in west london.
one day i will take him up on his offer to go and sample the grub over there (like i say i like food, but not enough to travel across the city for a curry).
tonight he handed me a bag with homemade curry and rice, he wasn't sure i would like it as it was hot. i said i would give it ago.
he wasn't lying. it was hot. it was also very nice.
it was hot.
i can still feel the heat inside me - keeping me warm and also starting the volcanic movement in my gut that will have seismic results in the morning.
oh yes i can tell that i will have a ring of fire tomorrow.
i tell you what that means i won't be needing to have an enema (why am i mentioning enemas? because pretty much every other day my blog is found by someone looking for enemas! if you can't beat them, join them).
oh and if the rumblings are true i won't be doing a log tomorrow, what will be coming out of my arse will be sludgy lava.