A knock at my door.
It’s my Indian neighbour.
“Are you cooking bacon?”
My flat shares an entrance with two other studio flats. There is a small washing room in between our apartments with a second door blocking my apartment off from the hallway which I always keep closed. Not with the thought of my neighbours noses in mind but due to the woman in the third flat who doesn’t quite understand that you don’t have to scream on Skype.
“Yes I am”
And no, you can’t have any.
“I don’t mean to be a pain but do you mind not cooking bacon?”
“The smell comes into my flat and where I come from, it is offensive to cook pork.”
And where are you now?
“I do try to keep the washing room door closed but someone keeps leaving it open. Are you a vegetarian then?”
“No I am Muslim, we eat meat but not pork.”
Well can you stop cooking meat from animals slaughtered in an inhumane way, the smell offends me.
“I am sorry, I will keep the window open next time I cook bacon.”
No I wont, there is no better smell than bacon.
“But, I still know that you are cooking it.”
You have to be fucking kidding.
“Look, I am sorry that I am cooking an animal that you worship. You have to understand that this is the United Kingdom and we also worship pigs but we show our appreciation in a different way.”
Was that too much?
“I have to go now.”
Slowly starting to shut the door.
“I don’t want to offend the woman in the third flat. It’s offensive to burn our bacon in the UK.”
Yea, that was too much.