“It’s a frickin’ rainforest, innit!”
“Nah, lover – they sell books and fing! Don’t you got nuffink in yer ‘ead past what ye’read in school?”
I am attempting to organise the thoughts within my mind and submit them to WordPress via a complicated system involving nerves, finger-tips, a laptop and various wavelengths, wires and whatnot. But these … people – the ones yacking away over their cups of tea at the very next table are causing me to fall at the first hurdle. They are getting on my nerves.
Now don’t get me wrong – I’d normally love a bit of banter. More soda to the soft drink, right? But these two numpties are absolutely bonkers! And not in a let-me-write-a story-about-them way. More like in a someone-please-knock-their-heads-together-so-that-I-can-think way. Let me describe them to you.
Specimen A is a young(ish) woman who looks like someone, this very morning, stripped her naked, rolled her around a room full of spare (and sticky) skin and then dressed her up as a Barbie Doll. Her chin wobbles when she laughs and she does that with an alarming regularity. Her ignorance of the world is absolute. She gives the impression that she has lived much of her life inside a giant, sound-proof, carton of ice-cream and that she has spent most of that time trying to eat her way out. Oh, and did I mention that she is the new poster-girl for obese? Well, she is.
Specimen B is a skinny scrote of a man. Consider what scrote is short for (yes, I double-dare you to click on that link) and you will understand what I’m trying to convey. He smells of unwashed toes, breaks wind on the minute, every minute (don’t ask from which end because I’m not entirely sure) and is one of those mister-know-it-alls; you know – the kind you definitely would wish into the seat next to your worst enemy for their over-subscribed train-ride from Aberdeen to Penzance.
My creative star is waning. I’m about to give up. I do so get bored with doing nothing, but if walking the streets of York with no fixed destination in mind is the alternative to sitting here for one moment longer, then so be it. The road to publishing a selected collection of Musings in Monsieur-Croque (nice title, right?) anytime soon, has been washed away in a freak landslide.
Please God, make me stop now.