Saturday, November 25, 2006

George Galloway: near miss

Friday night. Stroppy meets me after work. I buy the girl a Jack Dan and Coke in a trendy bar in Hoxton and we discuss the plan for the evening.

Ruby Murray, suggests she. Being Hank Marvin, I don't need my arm twisting. Not long afterwards, we are sitting at the window table of an unpretentious curry establishment on Hackney's Kingsland Road. I've got my back to the window, the Stroppy One is facing it.

The poppadoms, chutney and Kingfishers have arrived. The onion bhajees are fying. I am salivating in anticipation of the chicken jalfezi that is to come. Sometimes it takes a CJ to really hit the spot, no? Then Stroppy drops an entirely unexpected bombshell. And no, she's not with child.

'Ohmigod,' she says. 'There's George Galloway.'

'Whuuuu.... ??'

'Looking in the window.'

This takes a few seconds to sink in. I turn around. But by this point, GG isn't there anymore. I run to the door and poke my head out. In the darkness, I clock his Gorgeousness's unmistakeable silhouette - designer stubble, cee-gar, Crombie and all - heading south towards the cluster of Vietnamese restaurants that presumably took his fancy. The Respect MP - pictured above with some friends - was accompanied by another man, a woman and a child.

Damn. I'd have loved him to have chosen the same curry house as us, just to have been able to eavesdrop on the conversation. Maybe he would even have mistaken Stroppy and me for people who give a fuck about what he thinks.

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