Things overheard, things said.

Some years ago I was walking up my road to a busy parade of shops. Walking in front of me were two heavy set guys with short hair, polo tops and gold earrings. Their body language suggested a difference of opinion between them which seemed to be rather heated and close to spilling over into a full on row. As I caught up with them I heard one exclaim to the other 'he f*&king was'. The other guy's riposte was 'he was f*&king wasn't'. Just as I got side by side with them and desperately tried to avoid eye contact lest I too should be dragged into what I assumed was an arguement about football the source of the dispute was revealed with the sentence 'I'm fu*&king tellin' yer mate,..... Monet was a f*&king impressionist'!

On recounting this story to work colleagues the following story was related to me by a good friend. One was a conversation he'd had whilst working in a paint factory during the summer break from his studies at Cambridge University. Ben, as he shall be known, fell into a conversation with an older Irish guy who was the sweeper upper and dogsbody in the paint shop. 'You know what'? said he to Ben, 'that f*&king Maria Callas, when she hits those c*^ting high notes she makes the hairs on the back of my f*&king neck stand up'!

What both these stories show is that books should never be judged by their covers. No one should ever be assumed to be shallow or uncultured just because of an articulation that involves 'the language of the snooker halls'. Where I now live the most selfish and anti-social behaviour comes from the middle class parents of kids who attend the little private prep school on the corner and who park their cars so thoughtlessly as to be dangerous. The other source of self absorbed yobbery in my area is the predominantly middle-class students who rent houses in the street and seem to have no idea about the lives of others, especially those whose kids have to be up for school and who, themselves have to be up for work.

A friend from my father's mis-spent past got back in touch after a gap of 40 years, 20 of which had been spent on and off in various London gaols. At my Mum's 60th birthday party I heard him say to my then 7 year old son ' stay in school and stay out of trouble son, villainy's a c*^ts game'!

I'd take him, the two blokes in polo shirts and the old paddy anyday over the idiot who right now has just parked his 4x4 on the pavement outside my house.