as Spice Passport Refuses to Serve Anyone Dressed Normally
Thousands queue for curry, jerk chicken and kebabs — only to discover they must first pass the Strictly Come Seasoning Dance Test
By Quentin Thrustbucket, Chief Carnival & Unnecessary Dancing Correspondent
NOTTING HILL, LONDON — The Notting Hill Carnival has witnessed some extraordinary sights over the years, but this year’s celebrations reached an entirely new level of madness after Spice Passport opened a food stand with one extremely unusual rule:
NO CRAZY COSTUME. NO DANCE. NO SPICES.
While other traders were happily accepting pounds, cards and mobile payments, Spice Passport introduced its own currency:
Public humiliation.
Customers wanting to buy one of the company’s ready-mixed spice sachets first had to be wearing something sufficiently outrageous.
Then they had to perform the official:
SPICE PASSPORT DANCE
Nobody knew what the dance was.
Including Spice Passport.
That was apparently the point.
THE STAND THAT STOPPED THE CARNIVAL
The Spice Passport stall was impossible to miss.
Huge colourful signs announced:
🌶️ SPICE PASSPORT
TRAVEL THE WORLD — ONE SACHET AT A TIME
Underneath was a considerably more important notice:
STRICT DRESS CODE
NORMAL CLOTHES ❌
RIDICULOUS CLOTHES ✅
BORING HAT ❌
GIANT CHILLI HAT ✅
TROUSERS ✅
TROUSERS WITH 14 PLASTIC CHICKENS ATTACHED ✅✅✅
And finally:
NO SPICE PASSPORT DANCE = NO SALE
At 11:03 a.m., the first customer arrived.
He was wearing jeans and a T-shirt.
“I’d like a Chicken Tikka Masala, please.”
The assistant looked him up and down.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Far too normal.”
“But I’ve got money.”
“Not interested.”
The man looked bewildered.
“What do I need?”
The assistant pointed towards a nearby gentleman dressed as an eight-foot pineapple wearing fluorescent green sunglasses.
“Make an effort.”
THE FIRST SUCCESSFUL CUSTOMER
At 11:07 a.m., Barry from Croydon approached the stand.
Barry was wearing purple flares, a Caribbean carnival headdress, yellow swimming goggles, one red Wellington boot, one gold trainer and a cape made from what appeared to be twelve Tesco carrier bags.
The Spice Passport judge examined him.
“Costume?”
9.4.
“Ridiculousness?”
9.8.
“Any explanation for the Wellington boot?”
“No.”
The judge nodded approvingly.
“Perfect.”
But Barry still couldn’t buy anything.
First came the dance.
HOW TO DO THE SPICE PASSPORT DANCE
By lunchtime the official dance had developed into an eight-stage procedure.
Step 1: Shake your imaginary spice sachet above your head.
Step 2: Wiggle your bottom while shouting “TIKKA! TIKKA! TIKKA!”
Step 3: Turn left for India.
Step 4: Turn right for Jamaica.
Step 5: Pretend to sprinkle seasoning over the person behind you.
Step 6: Perform something known as The Peri-Peri Shuffle.
Step 7: Wave both arms and shout:
“STAMP MY PASSPORT!”
Step 8: Nobody knows.
You simply keep dancing until somebody gives you a sachet.
Barry completed the routine in 47 seconds.
He received a Chicken Tikka Masala spice mix and a standing ovation.
WORD QUICKLY SPREAD
Within an hour, hundreds of carnival-goers had abandoned conventional food stalls and joined the Spice Passport queue.
Not because they particularly needed spices.
They wanted to prove they could get served.
The costumes became increasingly competitive.
One woman arrived dressed as a giant chicken drumstick.
Approved.
A man dressed as King Charles riding a cardboard goat.
Approved.
Four friends came dressed as salt, pepper, garlic powder and paprika.
Immediately upgraded to VIP status.
One gentleman wore nothing unusual whatsoever except a sombrero containing approximately 40 plastic chillies.
The costume judge considered him carefully.
“Turn around.”
He turned.
There was a rubber chicken attached to his trousers.
“Approved.”
THE SPICE PASSPORT DANCE GOES VIRAL
Then disaster struck.
Someone filmed the dance.
Within hours, thousands of people around the carnival were performing it.
Steel bands began incorporating the rhythm.
DJs started shouting:
“LEFT FOR INDIA!”
Thousands turned left.
“RIGHT FOR JAMAICA!”
Thousands turned right.
“PERI-PERI SHUFFLE!”
Notting Hill moved approximately six feet sideways.
Police initially believed they were dealing with crowd congestion.
Then an officer asked:
“Why is everybody pretending to sprinkle seasoning?”
His colleague replied:
“Apparently they want curry.”
POLICE JOIN IN
Two Metropolitan Police officers eventually approached the Spice Passport stand.
“Can we ask who’s responsible for this?”
The stallholder pointed at the sign.
One officer read it.
NO DANCE. NO SALE.
He sighed.
“Fine.”
Thirty seconds later, two uniformed police officers were performing the Peri-Peri Shuffle while approximately 600 people cheered.
One forgot Step 3.
The crowd screamed:
“LEFT FOR INDIA!”
He corrected himself.
Both officers received complimentary kebab seasoning.
THE COSTUME WAR ESCALATES
By mid-afternoon, merely looking colourful was no longer enough.
One customer arrived dressed as a pirate.
Rejected.
“Why?”
“Seen it.”
A woman dressed as Wonder Woman.
Rejected.
“Too sensible.”
Then a man appeared dressed as a six-foot packet of British Chip-Shop Curry Sauce riding an inflatable flamingo.
The judges stood.
Perfect tens.
He was immediately awarded the coveted:
GOLDEN SACHET
This entitled him to skip the queue for the rest of the afternoon, although moving through the crowd while dressed as curry sauce on a flamingo proved difficult.
THE JERK CHICKEN INCIDENT
At approximately 4:20 p.m., a group of 23 people simultaneously requested Jamaican Jerk Chicken seasoning.
They were told they must dance together.
The DJ stopped the music.
The crowd formed a circle.
Twenty-three people raised imaginary spice sachets.
“TIKKA! TIKKA! TIKKA!”
Someone shouted:
“Wrong country!”
They started again.
The resulting performance lasted nine minutes and incorporated Jamaican dancing, salsa, the Macarena, two cartwheels and something one participant later described as:
“Mostly falling over rhythmically.”
All 23 passed.
A MAN IN A BUSINESS SUIT TRIES HIS LUCK
At 6 p.m., a businessman approached.
Grey suit.
White shirt.
Black shoes.
Briefcase.
The Spice Passport team stared at him.
“No.”
He placed £20 on the counter.
“No.”
£50.
“No.”
He sighed.
Then opened his briefcase.
Inside was an enormous fluorescent pink feather boa, flashing glasses and a hat shaped like a roast chicken.
The crowd erupted.
The businessman put them on.
The DJ started the music.
Three minutes later he was performing the Spice Passport Dance on top of a plastic chair shouting:
“STAMP MY PASSPORT!”
He left carrying six sachets.
And considerably less dignity.
THE FINAL CUSTOMER
As the carnival began winding down, an elderly lady approached the stand.
She was perhaps 80.
She wore an ordinary summer dress.
The assistant smiled apologetically.
“You know the rules.”
The woman nodded.
Then she opened her handbag.
Out came:
Flashing sunglasses.
A feather headdress.
Two inflatable chillies.
A sequined cape.
And a small battery-powered speaker.
She pressed PLAY.
Music started.
She performed the finest Spice Passport Dance of the entire carnival.
The crowd went wild.
Even the stallholders joined in.
At the end she raised both hands and shouted:
“STAMP MY BLOODY PASSPORT!”
She received the entire remaining stock.
A NEW CARNIVAL TRADITION IS BORN
By closing time, Spice Passport had sold out.
Not a single sachet remained.
Thousands of people had danced.
Several hundred had dressed as food.
Three policemen had mastered the Peri-Peri Shuffle.
One inflatable flamingo was still missing.
And absolutely nobody could remember why they’d originally come to Notting Hill.
Spice Passport subsequently announced that the experiment had been an enormous success.
Next year’s rules will therefore be tougher.
Customers must arrive in ridiculous costume.
Perform the complete Spice Passport Dance.
Successfully identify three mystery spices.
And complete a short immigration interview before being permitted to cross the counter.
There will also be a special express lane.
To qualify, customers simply have to arrive dressed as:
A GIANT SPICE PASSPORT.
The company has already unveiled its proposed slogan for next year’s carnival:
🌶️ SPICE PASSPORT
NO VISA REQUIRED.
JUST ADD FRESH INGREDIENTS.
AND FOR GOD’S SAKE — DANCE.
The Daily Scrotum Disclaimer: This story is entirely fictional satire intended for humour and entertainment. Spice Passport did not operate the carnival stand, impose a costume requirement or force customers, police officers or an 80-year-old woman to perform the Peri-Peri Shuffle. Any resemblance to people who genuinely dance like this after eating jerk chicken is purely unfortunate.
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