An All-Too-Brief Absence Of Lunacy, And Josh Discovers That Not Everything Is As Funny As He Thinks It Is.

Talk about tempting fate. I've finally caught up with the backlog - at last - and have just congratulated myself that I won't have to deal with any more nutters until next Tuesday, when Josh decides to send me a text:

"Mum, I'm at the Rajah Curry House. Can you come and pick me up? Now? I think I might be about to die."

"Why?" I text back. "What's wrong with you?"

They say a picture is worth a thousand words but, as for the the one that Josh sends me in reply, well - oh, my God. I have never seen a face as red as that in my life. And I'm positive that no-one's eyeballs should stick out that far.

I dial his number, while grabbing my coat, and hunting for the car keys in my bag.

"Umpf," says Josh, when he finally answers. He pauses for what feels like an hour, and then adds: "Inaloo."

The latter turns out to be a dual-purpose comment, designed for economy of effort, though I don't discover this until I arrive at the Rajah, having probably earned a million penalty points for speeding past every single camera along the way.

Once there, I find Robbie and two of Josh's other mates, all sitting comfortably at a table, laughing like fools, and incapable of explaining anything, except that Josh is "in the loo" due to the consumption of a "Vindaloo."

They think the whole thing is much funnier than I do, that's all I can say. And much, much funnier than does Josh, who still looks distinctly unamused when I finally get him out of the Rajah, and into the car.

"What the hell possessed you to order one of those?" I ask him, once I've managed to manoeuvre out of my parking space, without hitting the inconsiderate BMW that has boxed me in.

Josh doesn't answer - probably because his head is stuck so far out of the window that he can't hear a thing I'm saying over the sound of the air that's rushing past. He's gasping at it, like a panting dog, albeit one with unusually bright red ears.

"Josh!" I say again, much louder. "Why a Vindaloo - of all the bloody stupid things to have?"

Josh turns his face towards me. Despite the cool night air, it still has a very definite glow.

"I thought it was a joke curry. Kind of like a Korma," he says.

So much for an absence of nutters until I return to work. Though I suppose I should be grateful that Josh picked the Rajah, and not the Star of India instead. I'd never have been allowed back in there, teenage Vindaloo emergency or not.