In contrast to Ms P’s post on Vox today, I tried to be a good Samaritan this morning and nearly got myself beaten up for my pains. As I walked down the street outside Brixton tube I saw two people bump into each other, and a phone dropped to the ground. It looked to me like it had fallen out of the girl’s bag, and so I picked up the phone and ran after her to give it back. Before I reached her, however, I was grabbed around the back of my neck and shaken by a guy yelling, ‘where are you going with my phone?’ All I could do was stammer an apology and hand it back, but it scared the hell out of me. My hard London exterior is not feeling very tough today.
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On a different note, the more eagle-eyed among you may spot a familiar face dancing in the background of this video.
Hey two seconds, in that video there was a bottle of Gin and another girl escaped with it – not you?!? How did that happen? I can’t quite believe it…
Blimey mate, there’s a time and a place to be a Good Samaritan, but Brixton High Street?
Brennig: I won’t bother next time, I can tell you that.
You see a REAL Londoner would have subtly kicked the phone to the kerbside, pretended to spot something interesting in a shop window whilst the two people went their separate ways before bending down and scooping the phone into their bag and scurrying off in the direction of the nearest Starbucks to examine their ill-gotten gains in peace – all whilst avoiding eye contact with anyone.
Not that I’m cynical….noooooooooooooo.
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Incidentally I used to go out with a girl who reckoned you could judge people’s sexual prowess based on the way they danced…..I have experimented…she may be on to something….
London certainly is rough & tumble, and occasionally dotted with bastards, it seems. (He *shook* you? Sonofabitch).
I saw a flash of dazzling green eyes at the back of that video. Rings bells. Can’t put my finger on it. All I can think of is ’sore feet’, and a terrible feeling of guilt……?
Nope, it’s gone. (The memory, not the guilt).
Mr B: my (born and bred Londoner) boyfriend is constantly telling me I’m too nice for London. If it’s not behaving with consideration when I’m driving it’s trying to hand back people’s property or chatting to the drunk guy on the tube.
Of course, if they catch me on a PMS day then I’m the evillest bitch around.
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I’ve heard the dancing theory before. I reckon it holds water.
*shimmies*
Mikeachoo: BLEEDING feet, no less.
(We must have another trip around the City walls sometime soon – I believe you owe me dinner.)
Well, the witch isn’t me…