Why is it as you’re wandering along the road and someone trips over and crashes on the pavement that you’re the only one to help them up?
What is it about the look on your face that attracts the drug crazed beggar to ask you for ‘help’?
How many times will you be asked for directions before you get sick of it?
If this is you then read my new book called ‘fuck off’. Available at a store near you.
Just when I thought this blog was dead someone come visits. It just won’t die.
This month has been interesting so far. Being in London is like being in a constant state of motion. There really is no come down in this place. Even getting to and from your house you are beset with people, things and noise. I can understand why some people hate it. It’s a constant challenge to get milk.
I love it. There is something about being entertained by buskers as you wander down to the tube. Being swamped by a crowd of people mindlessly walking to wherever, ignoring that you’re there so you can have a game of bullrush while you’re thirty six.
Or even better laughing at their protests and disbelief when you don’t move for them, but bowl them instead. ‘You can’t do that, you’re only one and I had 20 people behind me ……’. Pack mentality rules here.
