“Shall we go for a curry then?”

I like hearing that sentence. There is not a situation when it is not welcomed, except perhaps post-coitally, which is why you should always check whether going for a curry is on the agenda. Better to know up front. I would hate to have sex and then not have a curry if I had been looking forward to the curry all through that boring foreplay bit. Sometimes that is all that keeps me going.

Anyway, I answered an with enthusiastic Yes to the question, as did the majority of our group (apart from those who probably wanted to have sex first), and so we made our way to the local curry house.

I am a traditionalist when it comes to curries, which is why I always order a chicken Balti and plain Naan bread. Just like they do in that country where they invented the Balti and Chicken Tikka Masala etc. Fat Jim is different however. He sees eating curry as a challenge, an opportunity to assert his manliness when so many other facets of his life are so disappointing.

“I’ll have the hottest curry you have!” proclaimed Fat Jim just loud enough for any of the women in the restaurant who preferred their sex post-curry (the weirdos) to hear.

There then followed some discussion of just how hot he would like it and words like phall, chillis-from-hell and instant-death likely were bantered back and forth. A short while later, our food arrived.

I had torn a piece from my Naan bread, and dipped it into my deliciously authentic Balti when I noticed Fat Jim had almost finished his curry. He was spooning more enthusiastically than a teenager at a playboy mansion sleepover.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I asked, but he continued to focus on the wall opposite for a few more seconds until the curry was gone. At which point he drank an entire pint of lager and ordered another.

“Nice was it?” I ventured.

“Hngggh….” replied Fat Jim, before starting to cry a little bit.

He took a glass of water and held its contents in his mouth whilst making the sort of noise you would expect of a ball-mouthed gimp whilst you attached electrodes to his testicles. I would imagine.

A few hours later, once the feeling had returned to his mouth, Fat Jim was telling anyone who would listen how completely delicious his curry had been. His bravado only falling once we reminded him that these things tend to be just as hot on the way out as they were on the way in.

I have not seen or heard from him since that evening.

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