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