What’s in a name?

I had lunch at the Roma Delhi Pizzeria today. The ‘h’ isn’t a typo. It’s a takeaway and eat-in caff in a basic working class barrio in Valencia that opened a few days ago, taking the place of a Chinese that had at one time been very popular but had obviously lost its appeal of late. Pizza, pasta and poppadoms.

When my friend John said he knew of a place that did a cheap lunch we went to have a look. He’d never eaten there but the menu looked okay. And it was, and so was the Green Pepper Chicken and the Butter Chicken we ordered, although the portions were a bit parsimonious. But the name was the best part of it. It was as if they were hedging their bets, including having a couple of kebab spits slowly turning. The service was crap.

Years ago there used to be a real greasy spoon caff in Blackpool called Egg On Ronnies, which will mean absolutely nothing to anyone who hasn’t heard of Egon Ronay, the originator of restaurant guides. I suppose the joke loses some of the humour if you have to explain it.

I was in a catholic church many moons ago, (purely as a visitor, you understand, I’m no holy roller), and as I was leaving I noticed three narrow slots in the wall, which presumably had a box behind them to collect the coins that were intended to be dropped in. The first was labelled, ‘Church repairs and upkeep’, and the second, ‘Friends of the Parish’. Both reasonably self-explicit, the latter I assume to help with good works in the locality. It was the third one that intrigued, though. This one was labelled, ‘Holy Souls’. Now who could they be? I had no idea, because I’ve never met one, at least so far as I know. I supposed it was yet another way the ‘left footers’ dragged a few bob out of the religiously deluded.

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