To You, Gatley Lobster
Hey you, yes you, bloke over there yelling abuse at me.
These are my chips. They’re reasonable chips, wouldn’t even pass for a small portion back at George’s in Harringay. I earned them. I’ve only had 1 1/2 meals today. I’ve the right to eat what I like, and if I eat it while walking down the street because I’m hungry – that’s my prerogative.
I’ve the right to walk down the street doing whatever I like, so long as it’s legal, without harassment. When it boils down to it, this isn’t about me. This isn’t about what I eat or what I look like. This is all about you, oh lobster-coloured lout.
You must be really bored. I mean, you thought this interaction was so important that your mate had to slow the car down, you had to open your window all the way…just so you could flash lots of bright red skin at me and tell me what you thought of me. You’re that inarticulate I couldn’t catch most of it, to be honest.
The funny thing is, lobster of Gatley… I don’t really care what you think of me. I don’t need you to validate my existence. This evening you actually proved to me that I am a decent person. I’m a decent person because I have a life, I do good things, and I don’t do what you just did.
I hope you’re on your way to a great night out, by the way. I’d like to think one day someone will teach you about suncream. And treating people right.