Saturday 15th April 2017.
Sharon and Bangers both work for the government in concrete bunker nerve centres, maybe somewhere near you. Their tentacles reach out all over the land. That’s not the whole truth. Unfortunately, I cannot divulge more than that without my toenails facing threat of reprisals.
Long time since I last saw Bangers. On the playground swings, at the top of our arc, we used to launch the shoes from our feet. Shoe javelin. Dom as well. I’ve not caught up with Dom yet but I’m pretty sure he never made a career out of this shoe tossing business either, though he had talent for it. (Just one of the rituals of the homecoming journey from school.)
They’re extending the pavement and narrowing the street down Shaw Road, Heaton Moor, creating a pavement terrace for trendy al fresco dining and patio lattes. It’s quite a thriving bijou hub for bon vivants and sybaritic stop outs of the Stockport suburbs. Though that youthful hoard flooding the widening path outside Bramley’s Carpets struck me as strangely pasty and wan. Like comic book refugees from a Dickensian workhouse. Admittedly, rather better dressed than your archetypal Oliver Twist.
Amidst all this State of Stockport documentary evidence, and the societal reprogramming fomenting underfoot, there was just time to pop over to Heaton’s for a curry. First of all, before I proceed, I should mention (and to unashamedly plagiarize the great bard), that I have of late, wherefore I know not, lost all my mirth (when it comes to describing an onion bhaji, say, or the texture and flavour of a curry sauce), foregone all custom of exercise (portraying the look and feel of the humble, hot wet wipe), and indeed, it goes so heavily with my disposition that this goodly frame the earth (Indian Restaurant Review) seems to me a sterile promontory…
Which only leaves me to point in dumb Marcel Marceau apery (from within my glass box, of course) toward the collective scores awarded by last night’s diners.
A hasty, grudging, conscience-stricken postscript… the food was excellent, generally speaking, I highly recommend a visit – though perhaps the chicken chatt sauce revealed an Achilles’ heel. That’s figuratively speaking. I’m not sure one can source chicken Achilles’ heels anymore.
Judge ‘Gonzo’ Pickles
Fred ‘Skippy’ Pickles
Sharon & Bangers