Baba sahab's day out

I have just returned from London. I was up there witnessing an interesting union between an Indian bride and a nth (n > 2) generation Mauritian (not Martian) of Indian descent.

As usual, when I prowl through London, I collect my share of pearls:

The London bus: ... is falling down. Well, nyet really, but you will if you don't heed me. Try not to take the suggestion to 'stand in front of the bus-stop when awaiting the public carrier' too literaly. Owing to scant space, the bus-stop abuts the road a little too snugly - think J.Lo wearing Audrey Hepburns' clothes (Yes, not a pretty thought). So, rather than you catching the bus, the bus will in all probability catch you. In the small of your back that is, or, whatever mess remains at the end.

Jaipuri jawans: I heard tell a story sinister, from the lips of an elderly spinster. Ok, scratch that. She was elderly, Mauritian, the groom's Aunt, a 4th generation Indian, but not a spinster. Anyway, when she was in Jaipur, eating away at some joint or another, she noticed that all the waiters were spectacularly tall and well built. She enquired why. Pat came the answer - "Because, we drink Camel's milk."

So, sonny boy, avoid Goat's milk and feta cheese.

M&S: Strolling through London, one is confronted by vast billboards of women in various states of undress asking, "What is your M&S?". While such billboards are a welcome addition to the city's skyline, especially with features so fulsome, that question really throws me. To begin with, M&S is a clothing store. So, why do these women discard their clothing? Especially, at billboardian altitudes in a rather chilly March. Are they trying to say that if that's all the protection that Marks and Spencer's clothing can provide, I might as well stomp around in me knickers. I think they need to re-think their advertisement campaign.

Then again, if it means tearing down those billboards, maybe not.