Why do people keep chatting to me? Do I have friendless and gullible tattooed on my forehead?
'Talk to Me; I Don't Run or Scream for at Least Ten Minutes'?
Scene: The Garage. Late afternoon.
Wanker: Are you going to be buying diesel or petrol?
Gullible Twat: Neither. I want to wash my car.
Is this a Pepsi petrol taste challenge? The car is covered in bird shit. Is he blind?
Scene: The Supermarket Checkout. Evening.
Wanker: Is that The Times?
No, love, it's a pigeon. Are the two inch high letters confusing you?
Wanker: Are they tabloid now?
It is, I suppose just about possible that I shrank the newspaper in the wash, smuggled it back in here, and now I want to pay for it.
Gullible Twat: No, they publish a tabloid option. You can choose. I think they're trying to compete with The Independent.
Mistake number one. Don't engage the nosey fuckers in conversation.
Wanker: (nods at the front page) Have you been following that case? Has he admitted it?
Dunno. Have you got halitosis? Oh, I see you have.
Girly Twat: Dunno. I think he has.
If I read the sodding paper, I might know. But that would involve you shutting the hell up and letting me buy the damn thing.
Wanker: What?! Her, too? Admitted it.
Oh pur-lease: talk in full sentences if you want a bloody answer.
Girly Twat: (sigh) No. He admitted they died in his house. He blamed her for the lies.
Wanker: Have you got a loyalty card? I did read about it, but I didn't ... it was a bit ...
Say goodbye to the Lady Coherence and all her little followers, folks.
Please God, just let me pay and extricate myself from this.
Girly Twat: It got a bit horrible reading all the details, didn't it? Yeah.
Oh great. Now I feel guilty and voyeuristic for buying The Times. The least hysterical newspaper I can find, and you infected it with prurience by association. Bastard. Gimme my change.
But why the hell were so many strangers chatting to me today?
Scene: Car park. Late evening.
Wanker: Excuse me, but where do you get your hair done?
In the bathroom, with the nail scissors, whenever I feel horrifically depressed, love. Why?
Girly Twat: Toni and Guy in Canary Wharf. Erm ... er ... uhhhh ... why?
Wanker: (whips out advertising brochure for a beauty salon) mmmfle murmur mumble ...
Okay, it got too boring even to type out.
He wanted a #50 downpayment on my next haircut, right there in the car park. If it hadn't been well-lit, I'd have thought he was offering to do it himself, with this shiny big hunting knife ...
I thought the point of London was a belligerent malevolent glare can replace ninety percent of normal discourse.