Zen Algebra

in the north we're brought up to think Londoners are rude. Well I've got news, they're not. In fact they are very friendly. the reason they appear rude is because in London no-one speaks to anyone. And there's a good reason for that: It's due to the disproportionate number of nutters who seem to live here.

Waiting for the lift from Lancaster Gate Tube yesterday, the man behind me was holding a box and talking very loudly about how he didn't care where anyone else was from, but that he was better than all of us. I checked he wasn't talking on a bluetooth - i don't know if that would have made it worse or better - and then discretely wondered off to take the stairs.

I felt bad while I walked up the stairs, not because I'm overweight and under-fit - well there was that as well, but because i'd reacted like that towards a person with mental health problems. Maybe he was talking to the voices in his head, keeping them under control. I thought for a moment I should find him and talk to him to make up for my rudeness. But I didn't. Because... well that would be silly. What would I say to him? Hello I just ran off because I thought you were a scary mental, but I realise the error of my ways, my name's John how do you do.

That's not going to help either of us is it.

Anyway I bet he doesn't pick stuff out of bins. I did.

I was on my way to meet Ben at Tiger Aspect when I noticed a load of rubbish outside a house in Bayswater, and there popping out of the top of a box was a Global Knifeblcok. I know it was a global knifeblock because I paid £100 for one a couple of years ago.

I checked it was definitely rubbish and then - yoink - off we went, the Global Knifeblock and me. Now I was cutting it too fine to go bakc to the hotel and dump it there, so I popped int a shop and paid 20p for a plastic bag and took it with me to Soho Square. But I couldn't take it in with me. Conversation would have gottens around to it somehow and I wanted to avoid the subject of rummaging through bins. There's o good way to explain it. Even if it's a profitable enterprise like the Global Knifeblock - going straight on ebay when I get home - it still doesn't excuse the fact that you're a dirty bin-dipper.

So I paid a homeless gentleman £2 to mind it for me while I went into the offices. He was a bit mad as well so somehow I feel I've redeemed myself. Not sure how, it involves some complicated Zen algebra, but I'm definitely up on the deal.