New life
Donor kebab
Zenga Longmore
y 14-month-old daughter, Omalara, is already showing signs of emulating her illustrious Uncle Abbas, the architect. The other day she designed a Brixton council estate out of Baby Bunting Building Blocks. I could tell it was meant to be Brixton because of the structural wonki- ness. That a mere babe should be bent on creating a collection of tower blocks is a damning indictment of Thatcher's Britain, (and Wilson's and Heath's and Cal- laghan's). Suddenly, as if to show what should be done, Omalara swept the com- plex down. Miraculously, the blocks formed themselves into a village green pattern.
Speaking of Thatcher's Britain, whom should I meet in Coldharbour Lane, but the New Right would-be journalist, who, readers will remember, once tried to spy on Clawhammer Jones Bingo.
`What you people need here, is the Enterprise culture! If you want your child to rise above the underclass, you must teach her business skills. Don't walk so fast, I can't keep up! Oh yes, business skills. See that tramp? Well, if I gave him a fiver he'd only spend it on drink. But if he received a loan or grant of £5,000, he'd start a business and be free of the de- Pendency culture.'
It seemed unlikely, as at that moment the tramp stretched out on the pavement, snoring loudly. Perhaps he was practising having a business lunch.
In a desperate bid to escape, I cried, 'Oh look!' and rushed up to two small, cheeky business Rastas in front of a toy panda in boxer shorts. One of them, resembling a button mushroom in his woolly cap, shouted, 'Penny for the guy, lidy.'
I duly parted with the said coin.
Oh, come off it. What with the rising cost of inflammation, a penny is now worth 54. Innit that it's now worth 50p?' he asked his elder brother. 'Yeah, s'right.' And anyway, it's not just for the guy, Y know, guy. It's for donor transplants.'
Donor transplants?' :Donor transplants.'
But you can't transplant a donor! A donor is a sort of kebab. And now,' I muttered, spying Mr New Right, who was fast approaching, 'I must dash.'
As I hurried on, I caught the sound of the boys asking the perplexed journalist for money for a kebab transplant.
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