You and me should hang out. You don't have enough weirdos in your life and I'm not only a weirdo but I attract other weirdos too. Yes, hanging out with me will bring you all the weirdos you could ever dream of. Drunks, shouters, the criminally insane. They all end up near me at some point. I'm the Sunnydale for weirdos.
Two memorable ones over the last few days. The first one was a woman who might have been mentally ill but in Lewisham it's hard to tell. I say that with no amount of flippancy. There are just so many odd people in Lewisham (me being one) that being mentally ill could go completely unnoticed here. The odd definitely outweigh the ordinary. I was in the park with Jerk who was enjoying the sunshine. It makes her want to run around in bursts of energy that I can't even imagine having. Unfortunately, this just gets her boiling hot so I try to control her running by throwing a ball for her and then after a few runs I throw it in the river to cool her down. I am a very caring, lovely and sexually gymnastic dog owner. But this strange woman started staring at me and Jerk and was soon ruining the happy-in-the-sunshine mood especially when she walked over and stood pretty much right beside me. She watched Jerk run for the ball and back to me and did a fair bit of muttering. It was sooooo relaxing.
Eventually she spoke. It wasn't great speaking but it was definitely better than her just hovering there mumbling. She said "You're torturing that dog".
Jerks excitement and tail-wagging joy at running after a ball showed me up for the evil dog-torturer that I am. Finally, someone had tried to stop my evil playing-with-my-dog ways. I'll be careful what I say next to this lady. I know, I'll pretend that I didn't quite hear her. That'll give me time to figure out how to kill her and get away with it. "Sorry?", I said.
"You're torturing that dog. It's too hot".
"She's fine. She's just been in the river. She's actually very cool now".
"No he isn't. He's sweating".
"SHE isn't. Dogs don't sweat".
"Well, why is he wet then?"
"Because the river is".
The woman spent the next uncomfortable 15 seconds staring at my face, my forehead to be exact, before shaking her massive, angry head and tutted off. That's the kind of person that you'll meet when you hang out with me.
Then two days ago (it might have been the same day, I am old and can't remember things), I was returning from a furious trip to Sainsbury's, carrying a bag-for-life full of groceries over my shoulder. A car drove past me and the driver leaned out of his window, shouted "Hello, Darling" and made the duckie limp-wrist hand gesture. It was the greatest thing that had ever happened to me. I had left Sainsbury's and somehow gone back in time to the 70's. How refreshing to meet men who consider homosexuality so threatening they must shout about it and the pinnacle of that homosexuality is a man carrying shopping. You know, like a woman. That's the kind of person you'll meet when you hang out with me.
I wanted this blog to be a bit longer and more detailed (and funny) but Johnny Candon has just arrived, terrified my dog and sending her into a barking fit and then he put Olivia Lee's Naughty Bits on my TV. That's the kind of person you'll meet when you hang out with me.
So, when are we meeting up?