Many years ago I used an Indian restaurant and mentioned it in a post yesterday, this was in response to a post by Bryan Fagan on his blog A Crack in the Pavement which was about writing long hand.

I mentioned that many years ago I used my local Indian restaurant and used to write in long hand having eaten and then drunk a few pints of lager, to which he responded that he’d like to see what I wrote at the end of the night.

When you drink on a regular basis you tend to stay fairly sober, however some nights when I had consumed  a few more pints I would need to translate the scribble I had written at the end of the evening.

Over the course of years some strange and interesting things happened in my local Indian some of which I had made a note of and always thought I would write a book containing these anecdotes, I never wrote the book!

I moved away some years ago now and the place closed down which I thought was a shame as it never gained Listed building status, you don’t see flock wallpaper any more.

However it just occurred to me it might be fun as a blog post so anyone can add comments as I’m sure I’m not the only one to have experienced strange events when eating out.

Please enjoy reading and if you have a funny or interesting story about eating out please add them to the comments.

I WENT TO MY LOCAL INDIAN RESTAURANT

Thirty years ago I went to my local Indian restaurant, it was the opening night.

At the time I didn’t live locally nor did I expect to still be using the same restaurant

some thirty years later.

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I went to my local Indian restaurant, there was a group of deaf people frantically talking together using sign language. The room was full of conversation, but no sound.

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When I first went into my local Indian restaurant I was the only bloke who would go there and eat alone. Over the years others have followed my example. I felt I made a mark for single mans lib. I still await the women to follow suit

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An elderly man who I thought was a school teacher always came with his wife and preceded to verbally brow beat her all evening. She never fought back. I always wondered why not?

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Two elderly ladies came into my local Indian restaurant, they looked as if they might have been gay. I hope they were lovers, to be friends would be too dull.

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A group of musicians from Albania came into my local Indian restaurant, how interesting was that. They didn’t come back. They were on a world tour.

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A very large man came into my local Indian restaurant with his girl friend. They proceeded to have a row, whereupon she exclaimed.

“I’m pregnant with his child and normally he’s a very nice man.”

Sadly he started to eat the wine glasses and was eventually evicted by nine police officers. I found out the next day that he beat up his girlfriend and the taxi driver who was unlucky enough to take them home.

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I used to go into my local Indian restaurant many years ago with my then girlfriend. She was slightly taller than me, slightly younger than me, and much more attractive than me. She was also black and at the time very much in love with me. So, why was everyone looking at us.

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I’ve been going into my local Indian restaurant for over thirty years. I should have started taking notes years ago.

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The first time I went to my local Indian restaurant and needed a wee and the mens loo was engaged, I sneaked into the ladies. What a revelation, it was immaculate. I had become used to the gents which were frequently like a pig sty.

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I went into my local Indian restaurant having just seen the film Oscar, based on the life of Oscar Wilde. Tragic how they destroyed such a talented man and his only crime as they saw it. “The love that dare not speak it’s name.”

Although perhaps they really punished him for his arrogance rather than his sexual persuasion.

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A group of very odd looking people came into my local Indian restaurant. They looked like a sad dating agency group. Whatever they were, they were perfectly behaved and left.

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I went into my local Indian restaurant prior to the Iraq war. The waiters asked me if I thought the Americans would bomb Iraq. I said “yes they would bomb the shit out of the place.” They didn’t believe me and seemed to have some miss guided belief that Saddam Hussein was some how invincible. I wondered why.

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I went to my local Indian restaurant, I’d just finished playing the butler in The Importance of Being Earnest at Wimbledon Theatre. Although the run had finished I was still on a high, it was a good evening. That’s why we are prepared to work for nothing. Who else would do that.

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The dullest man in the world came into my local Indian restaurant. I believe he was an accountant, which perhaps explained it. He later came in with an even duller friend. What had I done to deserve that.

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I went into my local Indian restaurant, two young people were sharing an ice cream. They were feeding each other. How romantic.

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I went into my local Indian restaurant and two men came in discussing their children and school. They discussed a school play where one of the boys had performed an amazing dance number and how brilliant it was. What progress, not that many years ago he would have been called a bloody poof.

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I went into my local Indian restaurant and while I was there I wrote another children’s story, it didn’t get published. It made some children who read it happy and kept me fairly sane while I was writing it. Everything in life has a purpose.

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I went into my local Indian restaurant with my mother who had come to stay with me for a year after my father’s death. She was well into her seventies and this was the first time she’d been in an Indian restaurant, Sad what a sheltered life my mum and dad had led.

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I went into my local Indian restaurant, it was busy and as usual I used the loo. The seat was covered in piss splashes. How come most men can find a vagina and insert their penis in this comparatively small orifice. Yet with a target as large as a toilet bowl they miss every time. After using the loo I took some toilet paper and carefully wiped the seat. I hate doing this but don’t want the next person in to think it was me who made the mess. Why am I the only person who ever does this.

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I went into my local Indian restaurant after watching a television programme about Muslim women complaining that they were not allowed to prey in the Mosque with the men. I was going to ask the Muslim waiters why this was but I knew all they would come up with would be a load of bollocks. Sometimes I haven’t the energy to try to have a sensible discussion with them.

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Many years ago I went into my local Indian restaurant and sat and chain smoked all night, I was a nicotine addict. I believe in freedom so don’t feel the need to apologise.

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Recently I went into my local Indian restaurant having given up smoking for five years. The couple on the table next to me smoked all night. As an ex eighty Marlboro a day man I felt it would be a little hypocritical to complain.

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I went into my local Indian restaurant, sometimes I get depressed, I’m sure I’m affected by the moon. It’s like I’m on the verge of tears, but being alone with my thoughts for the evening sometimes pulls me out of it. Sometimes it doesn’t.

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Two older men came into my local Indian restaurant. One dressed in a very expensive and smart suit, the other in scruffy trousers and a jumper. One had a full curry with all the trimmings and the other had an omelette and asked for brown sauce. Oddly the sophisticated looking one in the smart suit had the omelette with brown sauce.

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A girl and two boys came into my local Indian restaurant. They moaned during the course of the meal and refused to pay at the end. They became somewhat aggressive and as the only customer left I tried to assist the waiters in getting payment, only for the two boys to pick on me. My bravado was backed up by the fact that one of the waiters had called the police in a voice loud enough for them to hear. Eventually they got bored made the girl pay and left. I was a little upset that the police hadn’t arrived sooner. I was even more upset when the waiter informed me he hadn’t really called the police he was just pretending. I was somewhat lost for words.

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I don’t think the décor in my local Indian restaurant has changed since opening night.

It won’t take many more years for it to become a listed building.

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A large group of men, about twenty or more came into my local Indian restaurant. How strange to see such a large group of men with no women with them. The first time they came in they told my friend they were a religious group and later a rugby team. Although to look at them they looked a little old for rugby. Perhaps they were vicars who played in a seniors rugby team. I suppose they would always win having God on their side.

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I have been using my local Indian restaurant for over thirty years. The food is excellent but the service is abysmal especially for those of us who have been going in for some years. Sadly familiarity breeds contempt.

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I went into my local Indian and had my usual meal and went rather reluctantly down the road to a pub I don’t usually use but an acquaintance was having her birthday party there. Two chaps were in the bar, one with a Staffordshire Bull Terrier  and the other with a Bullmastif  were goading each other all night. Finally the one with the Bull Terrier went over to the other chap whereupon his dog leapt at the neck of the Bullmastif, unfortunately I had chosen this moment to go to the bar and was trapped between the bar and the dogs. The owner of the Bull Terrier then pulled hard on his dogs lead, I don’t know if this was to get his dog to release or what but the end result was that his dog would not let go and was therefore left swinging in the air somewhere about my lower chest area. “This is fun,” I thought, “I’m so glad we came in here!” Eventually the dogs separated and the fellows made up. Just another example of what happens when you go into your local Indian.

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