Once more I have been affronted, once more I have interacted with society, once more I have shown mercy in the face of stupidity, once more I have just about managed not to bludgeon someone to death with a tire iron, once more I encounter my nemesis!
As I was cycling home through idyllic Acton one bright and sunny day, without a care in the world I came across an oddity, a freak, a ruffian and a rogue! Not for the first time, alas, I run into who I will from now on refer to as Saint John Smedley-Smith-Smyth-Smithe, for such is the snivelling nature of this disgusting creature I imagine that’s the only name his parents could have given him, if indeed he ever had parents and wasn’t created in a lab somewhere.
Once more his opening gambit is as witty as ever: “Still wearing that fucking shirt I see”.
Sadly for him he decides to make this crass remark whilst trying to make a turn, thus leaving him stationary and open to attack. I’m in my usually light hearted mood so I decide to stop for a quick chat.
“Look, just what is your fucking problem?” is my initial retort.
Saint John S-S-S-S comes out with his usual guff about it being “Chelsea innit”, lacking the required whit to use real words it seems.
Angry cyclist: “I don’t care what it is; I take objection to you hurling abuse at me in the street”
Saint John S-S-S-S : “You’re typical Chelsea aren’t you, can’t take a joke”
Enraged Cyclist: “Screaming obscenities as a stranger across the street is not a joke it plain rude. Have you ever thought that you might shout at the wrong person one day and end up with a smack in the mouth?”, I emptily threaten.
Saint John S-S-S-S : “Don’t you have any friends that support someone other than Chelsea?”
Furious Cyclist: “Sure I’ve plenty, but, unlike you, they’re not obnoxious cunts. Have you ever thought that maybe I wear this because it’s bright yellow and I’m on a bike and want to be seen?”
Saint John S-S-S-S: “It’s nothing to do with the color… Do you even go to away games”
Apoplectic Cyclist: “What’s that got to do with it? You don’t get it do you, it’s nothing to do with Chelsea! Why, for example, is a cunt like you wearing a stupid cunty yellow jacket like that? Could it be for safety, could it be so other people can see you?” I say trying to speak down to his level so he might better grasp my message.
Unfortunately at this point I can see his putrid visage is not taking the basic idea in so I decide to leave after politely informing him once more not to shout vulgarities across the street at me in the future.
Just as I wheel round to continue my way home, a motor bike comes past, I stop to let him by, as a sensible road user should. Alas Saint John can’t help himself.
Saint John S-S-S-S: “That’s right cause an accident, typical Chelsea”
Incandescently raging cyclist: “Oh just shut up will you”
I cycle off.