Since finding out my great-great grandmother's great-grandmother was the Indian (probably Muslim) bibi (mistress) of a soldier in the 4th Regiment of Native Infantry in the East India Company's Bengal Army Establishment in India, it's become quite obvious why I like watching The Kumars of Number 42 on Saturday nights, just before we get to watch the All Blacks beat the opposition. I shit you not.

Of course, they didn't have television in the late 18th century. They didn't have rugby, either, but they did have soccer. I hate soccer.

All this will, of course, be why I like Pam Ayres' "Vindaloo" poem so much. Which reminds me, I still don't have the words to that.

You can read a bit about George and Jawn here, if you are very interested.

PS if you're 1/128th Muslim Indian, does that make you Muslim by birth? Cos I'd hate to have to start disliking myself over conflicting religious beliefs or something. I'm not sure what the other 1/128th illegitimate Indian on the other side of that Colonial blanket was so I just won't worry about that one. No point looking for trouble, is there?