I can't think how many Surma chicken vindaloos have disappeared down my gullet over the years, certainly flocks of poultry and several tureens of highly spiced sauce were involved. From time to time other exotic offerings would tempt me to veer off course but like a meth head I would always go back to the regular - my hot chicken. Vishnu knows how many crates of Mr. Ali's plonk have left me wobbling and stranded at the top of those vertiginous stairs, considering sliding down on my arse. Over many years, he fed me, tolerated my mates, gave us a large brandy at the end of the meal and sometimes aware of my predicament even gave me a lift home, and now my Monday evenings at 6.30 will never be the same. So, goodbye the Surma and Mr. Ali, a great Dulwich institution has passed to be replaced by something I imagine will be considerably less spicy.