No longer the Raj

I note with interest, that over in Basildon, a shop has opened that caters for people with dark skin. Enough of the euphemisms. Afro-Caribbean. These ladies from Essex no longer need to trek into London to find suitable cosmetics. Over at the shop, partner Sharon Peters, whose family was originally from St Lucia said, "Black skin has a different texture from white skin, it contains lots of a melanin, and therefore everyday beauty products are too greasy for us. Black people, obviously, have thicker, curlier hair, which requires special treatment, with specific products." This story made me smile. Recently, sweetheart was in the front garden when she heard a voice say, "It's because of the Brazilians, you know." Conspiratorially, like. Well, sweetheart looked round, trying to sort out if this was becoming some form of a biblical happening. Eventually, however, the grey hair and disturbed face of our elderly next~door neighbour poked out and explained that the house down the road, though it had been on the market for ages, wouldn't sell because of the occupants from South America, who lived opposite. They smelt, she said. And they had the wrong sort of curtains. (This is all true, I kid you not.) Well, as I say, when I first came across this story, it was amusing from the point of view of trying to fathom out what the reaction would be, should such a shop open where I live. Living amidst the rolling hills of a rural county in England has many advantages, of course. I like landscape. I like the smell of harvest. But unlike the harvest, I can't say I've ever smelt the family who live down the road... You see, a lot of the older generation still think they are sipping gin and tonics, fanned by the natives, as they lounge on the verandah out in India. The Raj is over. The empire IS nothing but an insipid little man called Tony. And that's alright with me. Welcome to a multi~cultural England, dear. Tonight, I play the rhumba louder