This morning I was listening to Desert Island Discs, a weekly radio programme that has been going for more than twenty years. Each week a famous person is asked to choose the eight records, one book and one luxury item that they would want to have if they were alone on a desert island. Guests on the programme choose their favourite records, and explain why they like them so much. At the end of the 30-minute programme they say what book and what luxury item they would want. This morning's guest, a scientist, chose an endless supply of curry as her luxury item.
After listening to the programme, I went to the pub for lunch. I ordered chicken curry. On the menu it said the curry was 'medium'. In Japan I usually eat chuu-kara (medium-hot) curries, so I thought 'medium' would be just right.
After about ten minutes my curry arrived. The waitress carried the plate to my table, holding it with a towel.
'The plate's hot, and so is the curry,' she warned as she put the food down in front of me.
'Oh dear, what a pity, never mind,' I thought to myself. Without thinking I pushed the plate a little closer towards me.
'Ow!' I screamed as I burned my finger. Luckily I had ordered a glass of cold beer to go with my curry. I plunged my finger into the beer and sighed.
'Ah, that's better!'
I looked at my plate, full of chicken curry, pineapple and rice.
'Mmm, lovely,' I thought to myself. I put a forkful of the sweet-smelling curry into my mouth and began to chew. Suddenly I coughed. Then I coughed again. Tears came to my eyes. My tongue felt as if someone had set it on fire.
My glass of cold beer quickly disappeared down my burning throat. It was like pouring a cup of water on a forest fire. I rushed to the bar.
'Four pints of cold lager. Hurry!'
The barman looked at me strangely.
'Are you feeling alright, sir? You've gone very red in the face. Perhaps you've had a bit too much to drink already.'
'If you don't give me some beer now, I'm going to die of curry poisoning. Please!!!'
I didn't die from the curry. If I had, I wouldn't be writing this now, would I? To be honest, though, I'm still not feeling too good, but that is probably because of all the beer I drank. In the end, I had what we British call a liquid lunch: four and a half pints of beer to go with my one forkful of curry.