I Peanut

It is my last official meal at La Paramount.  The chaps are in good spirits.  Jelly and Butter cheer me on through my traditional chicken and vegetable Asian pot of fun.  We talk about all the great times we have had in this great eating space.  Jelly notes that with the ending of my current position in Government, the door has truly opened for a go at the golden calf of job contentment: a full-time job at the Paramount.  Of course, I could start off small, cleaning out the toilets and scrubbing the jizz off the wash basins and poo from the floor.   Perhaps, then graduating to cleaning up tables and taking the dirty plates back to Chef Lanka, with a few, surly biffs across the head from the big chef for not moving fast enough.  But slowly I Peanut would ascend the dirty, greasy, sticky pole of the big P.  Getting my own apartment looking over the plastic dome of the food court.  Getting special access after hours to the senior employees’ bathroom; unlimited, 24 hour access to the Paramount gym, casino and strip club on the rooftop level.  Then eventually, I would be presented with the massive set of keys to attach to my stained, black slacks along with my own storage locker for personal items and things I had stolen from guests, as I become the official Paramount caretaker, the most revered (and indeed feared) position in the Paramount organisational chart.  When I become no 1, it will be like Scarface burying his head into as many steaming plates of Chef Lanka stewed goat curry as he desires.  Who will stop me then?  And I Peanut will plot my revenge on all those who have wronged me.  

Paramount within a Paramount

Dear readers, I apologise for the lateness of this report but laziness and a state of general apathy were preventing me Peanut from completing my correspondent duties for the Paramount group. However, I managed to break free of the sticky and terrible tendrils of lassitude to put together this rather unremarkable entry.

Well I remember officer that I got there first on the day in question. As usual, I sat at my table and wondered if anyone was going to turn up. Sure nuff, no sooner had I cogitated on this gloomy possibility when Jelly emerged from behind a plastic palm tree shouting, “Surprise to you Peanut.” I turned around to face him with a stupid grin on my face and have a piece of curried beef hanging out of my chops. You see, I had visited once again the kitchens of Chef Lanka to get my lunch for that day. As Chef Lanka once said with great wisdom, “Eat all you can at the Lanka you fat c**ts.” So as I worked my way through my meal with Jelly sitting opposite, good ol’ Butter turned up with his ear glued to his mobile phone on important business matters. I can’t remember if Mayo turned up. It was so long ago and the details remain increasingly vague and unretrievable to me. It has now become but I dream within a dream. Like a Paramount within a Paramount. Sort of like that movie Inception but I don’t get to play the main Leonardo di Caprio role. Sorry I can’t shed any more light on the incident officer. I have no idea what happened after that knock to the head on the stairs or how I ended up wrapped in a cigarillo in that well-known hangout for fancy men. Just to note that a supporter of the UK Independence Party at Ramsgate opined how he looked around his town and didn’t know where he was anymore with all those dark and swarthy faces at the supermarket and the constant jibber jabber of foreign tongues. It’s not the England that his mother and her mother before her fought and died for I tell you that. Over and out for now. Mr Peanut.

"Another winner for the three chaps!" - Friday 24 October 2014

Today was lunch with the three chaps, Mayonnaise deciding against eating indoors to enjoy the sunshine. Peanut and Jelly exclaimed that they dislike the sunshine, and Butter, well let’s just say that Butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. So, the three chaps for lunch in the Paramount Retail Centre Food Court.

Peanut arrived first and went with Chef Lanka, possibly inspired by Jelly’s meal from there last fortnight and his positive comments about it. Jelly had ordered fish curry (“a bit sweet”) and lamb curry with cashews and yellow rice with zucchini and carrots. Peanut got lamb and beef curries and biryani rice, by the looks of it, of which he said “two meats is too much,” which was the first time anyone had heard him complain of having too much meat in his mouth. He said he’d prefer “meat and two veg”, like old-fashioned Western style cuisine.

Jelly arrived next with home made cous cous salad, leftovers from two nights before. He also had a fork taken from the work cutlery drawer.

Butter came last (as usual, but at least he came – he didn’t come the last time) and brought with him only an apple. He had a hoarse voice from “too much gargling”.

After 30 minutes or so of the usual gutter talkthe three chaps headed back to work.