Saturday, 4 April 2009

The Sash My Landlord Wore

In 1985, me and ma pal, Bunty, went to Kreuzberg in Berlin cos that's where Bowie hung out whilst making his best records. We fondly expected to end up sipping Turkish coffee wi Dave, Eno and Iggy (this was extremely naive cos by '85, Bowie had entirely lost the plot) but most bizarrely, all we stumbled on was a German oompah stylee Orange parade. Seriously: no flutes, no lambegs, no accordions, just big brass instruments, orange sashes and a banner of King Billy on his white charger - all making lotsa noise and scaring the locals in a predominantly immigrant part of town.

Thankfully, i've no yet come across drunken loyal orange oafs in India. But i was at a Shigmo parade tother night which featured among other barry radgeness orange turbans, vast bangin drums and flowing silk sashes. These sashes were worn round the waist and of varied hues including pink, blue, green and yellow. There may have been other colours, i wisnae really payin attention. Anyway, my landlord, the super-chilled Mr Sarvesh Komarpants (aka Bhole), wore a pink sash and was part of a cool wee stick dance troupe which scooped a prize for best performance of the night.

Bhole's possibly the most relaxed man in the most relaxed place i've ever been - Goans take it awfy awfy easy. But on Shigmo night he and his chums were givin it nantas and to my untutored peepers, fully deserved their prize. Goin by the nick of my man the next day (strictly hammock bound til nightfall) i suspect the cash prize was mainly spent on fenny. By the way, Bhole's on the left of the 2 geezers in the middle o the pic above.

Great night out, lovely man. Sheesh i'm gonna miss this place.


  1. Mebbe we could learn a bit from the Goans bout takin it easy. Meant to ask you if you managed to get a copy of 'Comrades'. If not I can let you have one.

  2. Well it's gid that ye'll be back in Ecosse in time for the marching season and Gala days. I'm sure the wife would love a wee visit tae the backwater that is Blackburn tae follow the flute band and the bowler hatted racist/bigot/Rangers fans/Weegie wannabees/sash my father wore brigade. It'll be just like Goa, all that deprivation and povery, locals hanging onto the outside of public transport rather than sitting on the SMT busses... Ahh... I right miss West Lothian so's I do...
    I'm gonna dig ma auld man's sash oot and I'll see you there!
    Dae ye think that 'gaun yersel' derives fae 'Goan yersel'?
    All these Indian words that have crossed over tae Scotland - ye should start researching it Mr Naldo.
    See ye Saturday ya tanned, tattooed, veggie, Jambo, hippy bstard. Love tae thr Blackburn massive!

  3. Neil, you are absolutely spot on re learning a trick or two from the Goans about taking it easy. I reckon the heat and abundance of fruit on trees and sea in the fish has somethin to do with it.

    It's easy to romanticise about a place when you're just a visitor and don't really understand the local politics, tensions, jealousies and downright nastiness that exist across the globe. But there really does seem to be a less acquisitive (my word of the week) culture and a refreshing lack of naked ambition that i love about the peeps round here.

    I never did get a copy of 'Comrades' but i'm back home after the weekend so if you could send one to me, that would be absolutely el barrio.

    Nice yin.

  4. Stevie, you too are spot on bout most of the above but i huffty tell ye that the tan's almost non-existant cos i mainly hide fae the sun. Always considered skin cancer a particularly shitey reason to pull a sickie. You'll be glad to hear, tho, that ma neb's even purpler than ever.

    I am of course a tattooed veggie Jambo and a bit o a bastard at time. But dinnae dare call aes a hippy, ya radgepot. If there's one form o human life i cannae take tae it's they nippy hippies. In my (sadly extensive) experience thir mainly intolerant, free loadin rich kids wi nae brains, too much dope and no enough soap. Grrr.