The Chutney, Wandsworth (26th October 2010) by mikebate

A meeting of RoTters was held on Tuesday, Oct 26^th with a compliment of the more reliable amongst us, namely me, Bascy, Junior, Newtsey, and two occasional hangers-on called Vowler and Bogger.  Apart from Tomo, who had carelessly agreed to pick his wife up from the airport, the usual drop-outs dropped out.

The evening was scheduled to start at The Alma, a splendid pub opposite the station in Wandsworth.  This started the first confusion of the evening as it turned out to undergoing renovation.  The early birds decamped to The Royal Standard, a tiny pub just along the street and everyone else had to guess where they were.  It had lost a bit of its old atmosphere since being painted white inside, the bar being adjusted, and no naked, drunk, rugby revellers, but the ales were good and included Doombar.  It was exceptionally busy as more confused people, expecting a pint of delicious Young’s bitter at The Alma, took refuge.

Deciding that variety is the spice of life we then headed up the hill to The East Hill, a ‘Geromino’ Pub.  This is like a yuppie’s pub which has been lifted out of Chelsea and plonked in Wandsworth but we soon felt at home when we’d turned our collars up.   There was a good class of people in there with fine-looking damsels and a jolly atmosphere.  Newtsey was very tempted to enjoy one of the plump, home-made, pork pies placed teasingly on the bar but decided to look after his hour-glass figure and wait for his curry.  Unfortunately I’ve forgotten the ales because I was too pissed but I do remember my first choice running out as soon as I asked for a pint which was most irritating.

Then on to Chutneys Indian Restaurant almost next door.  We were revisiting this establishment after a positive experience previously.  The usual display of Cobras (with half pint glasses for etiquette) presented itself and papadoms were crunched with the reliable array of pickles.   A variety of fine main courses, vegetables (with wife-beating Tarka Dahl), rices and breads were ordered except mine did not live up to expectations, being too creamy, not spicy enough, and the sauce too thin but I’ll forgive them. It was at this stage of the proceedings that the next episode of mayhem was experienced.  Vowler claimed that the current economic woes were caused by the bankers, blindly forgetting it was really caused by over-zealous borrowing and absurd public-servant expansion by the ousted labour government.  Emotions ran high, voices were raised, heads were turned, and cries of ‘Apologise! Apologise!’ rang through the restaurant.  Vowler was suitably chastised and disappeared off on his 2-wheel car wearing a carefully-crafted copy of the Socialist Worker paper as a helmet and sounding like an annoyed Mutley.

Newtsey and I had a final emergency pint at The Standard as the remaining stragglers went to the wrong platform of Wandsworth station to go home.  A fine evening and one to be repeated when the Alma opens again (apparently it now is).