Dastardly and Muttley

I was out in Brick Lane at the weekend, a marvellous collection of neon lights which celebrate the culinary delights of the local Bangladeshi community. The restaurants stretch as far as the eye can see , and the pukka wallahs stand outside every establishment trying to entice locals and tourists alike into their curry house. It was huge fun.

As I had walked my wife round half of Shoreditch, however, she was not best pleased we had past the turnoff twice without going down it. I was fortunate, therefore, to be able to offer her a seat in a traditional East End boozer, The Spitalfields Arms. Here I was presented with my beer drinking nightmare as they had both London Pride and Doom Bar on tap. Doom won , as I can get Pride anywhere these days, and a fine drop it was particularly as it had to travel all the way from Newquay.

While drinking, we discussed the range of 'Little Asias' we now have at our disposal. The Rusholme curry mile on the outskirts of Manchester is by far the biggest collection of curry houses I have seen, and Birmingham has its own Balti Boulevard in Sparkbrook courtesy of the large Kashmiri population who live there. The Birmingham outlets are mostly BYO but I suspect the restaurants all own the offie next door to ensure maximum revenue!!

Closer to West London of course is Southall with its varied and excellent curry houses, Ritas Cafe being one of my favourites, and Ealing has a few goodies as well. I remember in my student days going into Whitechapel on a Wednesday evening and always having chicken on the bone, as it was 50p cheaper. That seems to be a option no longer offered in most places.

So, where did we end up eating? Well our first choice, the Monsoon, reminded me of Groucho Marx great expletive, 'I would never join a club which had me as a member' as the place was populated with the East End equivalent of the post rugby crowd out for a lively time. So we moved to the Chat, a bit off piste, but well regarded. Sadly as we got there the chef had a dippy fit and walked out so no chance of food there then!! Third choice was a very pleasant Southern Indian outlet where we feasted well on the usual diet of too many main courses and an over abundance of sides......but it all got dusted off.

Now, if I were to stand for, and be elected, Mayor of London, one of my pledges would be to rid London of pigeons. This is an action which I think would be a great vote winner, and its importance to Londoners was brought home to me when I awoke the next morning to find my car once again covered in the remains of the pigeon equivalent of a fruit vindaloo and special fried rice.

This gave me an idea. Curry houses were oft thought to be responsible for procuring cats and dogs off the street to embellish their dishes with. Isn't it high time that they started to turn their attention to the vast pigeon population and by so doing start to maintain their supply chain in case a new epidemic of bird flu hits the UK and wipes out our chickens. I am sure the residents of tree lined streets in Manchester, Birmingham and London would be delighted to see the little blighters exterminated in this way, and with a bit of Massala sauce you would never tell the difference.

Which got me thinking, why do you never see a baby pigeon, or Squab to give it its correct name?