A couple of hustlers pulled a pincer movement on me the other morning. While I was retrieving something from the cab a stringy fellow approached and tried to befuddle me with some soho gobbledigook. I sensed something was afoot. I looked into a neighbouring shop front and, in the reflection, saw the ghost of a trench-coated weasel with his claw in my till.
“I didn’t take nuffink bruv!” he protested.
“Only because you are a truly terrible thief,” I replied, cool as a cucumber. “Now be gone!”
(In the actual event I was quite scared and acted slightly more cowardly)
In other news – later that day a fruit barrow tipped and spilt its wares across Brewer St. I went to help but so many passersby had stopped to assist all I could do was take a photo. What a sad, bad, exciting and wonderful place is Rupert St.