Originally Posted by
Herbert Augustus Chapman
splendid form fitting lycra pants on and had just about worked up a decent pulse when I was dangerously undertaken by some Greek looking chump in a battered old Datsun who appeared engrossed in his phone with only one hand on his steering wheel while clearly tugging himself off with the other hand.
I banged his window hard and commanded him to pull over into the little side road and signalled him to wind his window down so I could give him a proper *******ing. His bottom lip was trembling and he was blabbering in pidgin “Please please, I no English, I no English” when I suddenly recognised him. It was the rather subservient but jolly little chap who usually serves me in Attaturk’s Turkish Kebab Emporium in Green Lanes. By this time he was blubbing like a scolded child and begging “Please no police, no police” so I pretended not to know him from Adam and took off sharpish before he recognised me! Would’ve been bloody awkward next time I headed over to Turnpike Lane for a crafty doner.
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