Neighbourhood Watch…

I heard the missus chatting away on the doorstep this morning while she was waiting for me to leave with her for work. And, as I arrived at the front door, I found her talking to a man getting into a car down the road.

As we left the house we neared the man in the car and he wound the window down to say hello. So, as I’m from the North where we do things like talk to our neighbours, I offered my hand and introduced myself.

‘Hello. I’m Paul. What’s your name?’
‘Hi. I’m Trevor.’

It was at this point the wife interjected to introduce herself further and comment that she hadn’t seen much of him around – in a sly attempt to elicit more information from the poor unsuspecting fool...

‘I’ve been away in India shooting.’
‘Are you a hunter?’
‘No I’m a cameraman.’
‘Oh…’

I thought this was a perfectly reasonable response but as we ended the conversation and myself and the missus walked on she offered her thoughts on the matter. As she does on most matters…

‘You idiot…’
‘But he said he was shooting things.’
‘He lives here. It’s obvious he works in media.'
'He could have been a big-game hunter.'
'We live in media town. You can’t move down this street without bumping into cameramen, film producers or journalists!’
‘I thought it was funny. He laughed…’
‘He didn’t laugh. He was scared. You’ve got a skinhead, you have a northern accent, you loomed in through his car window and your mouth was covered in toothpaste you hadn’t wiped off.’

So let that be a lesson. Never be friendly in London…