(no subject)
Yesterday, during my evening constitutional, I found a phone on the ground. I thought I would take it home and try to find the owner, but as I held it in my hand it started to ring and so I answered it to hear someone say.
"Can I have my phone back, please?"
The owner and I then get into a discussion in which I try and tell him that I want to return the phone and he doesn't believe me and tells me that he's coming for the phone[1] We do this back and forth for a while during which I stare at the frozen ground and the clouds of my breath and start thinking, "fuck this".
For those of you whoe live, or have lived in London, he sounded exactly as you imagine he would which is why I was very pleased when refusing his umpteenth request to wait on the estate[2] until his arrival, I was able to say:
"Cause it's cold, innit?"
He starts naming places I could leave the phone which makes me realise I don't know my area at all[3] but then he mentions the very pub I'm standing outside of[4] and he asks me to go in and find the fat woman and give her the phone.
After explaining to him that I'm not walking into a pub and essentially asking to get my head kicked in, I tell him that I'm gonna leave it with the barman and our conversation ends.
All in all, I think I should have gone with my first instinct of drop punting the phone straight down the fucking road.
FUN FACT: When I google the name of my estate the first link that comes up reads: "A man was shot in the head on Sunday when violence returned to Archway’s trouble-torn estate".
***
[1] From fucking far away, mind you. Green Lanes reprazent!
[2] For those of you who have watched the Bill, the word estate probably conjures up images of youths being chased by dutiful coppers and my estate is pretty much like that except there's a lovely shop in the middle.
[3] Or at least I don't know the chav hangouts.
[4] My estate[a] also has a pub.
[a] I say 'my estate', but it's Islington Council's, really.
"Can I have my phone back, please?"
The owner and I then get into a discussion in which I try and tell him that I want to return the phone and he doesn't believe me and tells me that he's coming for the phone[1] We do this back and forth for a while during which I stare at the frozen ground and the clouds of my breath and start thinking, "fuck this".
For those of you whoe live, or have lived in London, he sounded exactly as you imagine he would which is why I was very pleased when refusing his umpteenth request to wait on the estate[2] until his arrival, I was able to say:
"Cause it's cold, innit?"
He starts naming places I could leave the phone which makes me realise I don't know my area at all[3] but then he mentions the very pub I'm standing outside of[4] and he asks me to go in and find the fat woman and give her the phone.
After explaining to him that I'm not walking into a pub and essentially asking to get my head kicked in, I tell him that I'm gonna leave it with the barman and our conversation ends.
All in all, I think I should have gone with my first instinct of drop punting the phone straight down the fucking road.
FUN FACT: When I google the name of my estate the first link that comes up reads: "A man was shot in the head on Sunday when violence returned to Archway’s trouble-torn estate".
***
[1] From fucking far away, mind you. Green Lanes reprazent!
[2] For those of you who have watched the Bill, the word estate probably conjures up images of youths being chased by dutiful coppers and my estate is pretty much like that except there's a lovely shop in the middle.
[3] Or at least I don't know the chav hangouts.
[4] My estate[a] also has a pub.
[a] I say 'my estate', but it's Islington Council's, really.