Squirrel vs Pigeon
Whilst sat on a bench in Regents Park one time a tramp ambled up to me, stinking of piss and the sort of strong white cider that could strip a wall at twenty paces. Oh gawd, I though. I've always - for some unknown reason - being rather popular with tramps, a sort of tramp magnet who they think would be interested in hearing them recount their tales about what crap they found in a bin that afternoon, how they had a piss in a phonebox earlier, how they've been secretly popping round to Buckingham Palace every evening for the last twenty years to squirt a thick load up the Queen's jacksy. etc, etc, etc.

So, I let out a little sigh, resigned to a few minutes of listening to complete and utter tramp drivel. But the tramp doesn't want me. No. He veers off at the last moment, busying himself with something by the side of my bench. And to my horror, after a few moments, the tramp reappears from his crouch holding a stone cold dead squirrel, trailing guts and blood - it looked like a dog had mauled it - which the tramp strokes and talks to in gentle, placating tones, holding it up to his cheek and coooing softly, before ramming the half rotten corpse squarly in one of his overcoat pockets - so the stiff back legs and bushy tail, trailing squirrel shit, poke out looking like some kind of fancy fashion accessory.

The tramp goes swaying off, talking to himself. And I just couldn't help myself.

I said: "There's a dead pigeon over there," and I pointed.

The tramp stopped. His manky old nostils flayed open, his twisted, pox-ridden face screwed up a little more, and he said:

"WHAT THE FUCK CAN AYE DO WITH A DEED FUCKIN' PIGEON??? D'YOU THINK I'M FUCKIN' MENTAL OR SUMMIN???"

I apologised. He accepted my apology and wondered off, absently stroking the dead and mangled rodent corpse in his pocket.
( SpankyHanky, Thu 2 Jul 2009, 17:32, Reply)