“Spare any change?” “Spare any change, sir?”

I make eye contact, shake my head and say “No, sorry” as I pass him every day.

Come summer, if you are conspicuously young, female and unaccompanied (as with most street harrassment, the provocation is daring to be female in a public space and without your owner), the following is directed at you:

“Take me home”

This was semi-tragic the first two times I heard the line; the next twenty were more wearisome. I pass by pointedly ignoring him while fuming inwardly, and other women do the same. I wonder if the other women also fume at their own fumingness (like I do) for daring to feel angry towards a homeless person. I guess I’m evil. Still, he can breathe a sigh of relief that I’m more of the ‘Terry’s’ and less of the ‘Clockwork’ persuasion when it comes to my oranges.

Why can’t he be like the famous and charming One Pound Man of Harlesden? He’d ask everyone that went past him for one pound. He even adjusted for inflation, evolving (like a Pokemon) into Two Pounds Man. I was happy to do business with a professional like One/Two Pound(s) Man.

Today I chose a slightly different route around the bridge, approaching from an angle that might make it less obvious that a woman is rushing past:

“Spare any change?”

I ignored him.

“Choose to be ignorant?”

“…” (Subtitle: How fucking presumptuous you *Insert swear that transcends all other swears here* )

I’m reminded of my ex-colleague’s tactic of dealing with rude beggars:

“Gimme some change.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m a tight bitch.”

Cue me and my sister dropping little hammy into the laps of amused AIDS patients while crazy Swedish lady shrieked excitedly, over and over:

“LOOK EVERYBODY! LOOK AT THE ALSATIAN!”

The first in the series will be a Life Drawing. I’ll bust in on him in the shower taking him by surprise, sketch him quickly as I monitor the bemusement on his face melting into pure, unbridled anger and then I’ll run off far, far into the distance before my name can be put on some kind of register that will prevent me from ever working with 24 year old men again.

Aren’t you a lucky blogster? Yes you are! You are a lucky blogster.

Here’s one to start, The Smoker (unfinished- cigarette not drawn in!)

As I look over from my hunched position perched on the edge of my bed with my laptop, I can just about see my desk. It’s a beautiful 3-tier oak lean-to that I’m slowly destroying with spilt beauty products and at the moment (predictably), it’s covered in all sorts of shit.

At the top- Novels, poetry collections, old physics textbooks, scraps of paper, books that look embarrassing but are quite enjoyable, a book I stole from my school library back in 1996 (Cider with Rosie), £50 of cash, a wooden elephant and some tools.

On the middle- A framed postcard of a vintage French tourism poster, a sabraged Krug bottle top (pilfered from my good friend Martin’s birthday party), jewellery, broaches, an epilator, a statuette of Tifa from FFVII, combs and hairbands.

Sabrage this!

On the main desk- A lamp, a Roberts DAB radio, myriad creams, a broken mirror, coasters, a tin (within which I keep the souls of enemies), my watch, more jewellery, lipstick, a loo roll, pencils, pens, sellotape, receipts, chocolate, ear plugs and a pair of leather gloves.

Yes.

Let’s follow the flow chart.

***

YOU: “I’m pretty serious about my comedy.”

ME: hmm, this person could possibly be a twat but I’ll hear them out.

YOU: “Musical comedy is the lowest form of comedy.”

ME: OK…I like it, but each to their own…that’s a pretty bold statement, can you really bring me as much joy as Bill Bailey and Flight of the Conchords have done, no matter how much they stretch their material?

YOU: “Here’s my work.” (Subtext: It’s far too sophisticated for the likes of you)

ME: I have never seen or read anything quite so devoid of funny, even Horne & Corden

Conclusion: YOU MIGHT JUST BE AN AWFUL PERSON

I think you’ll agree it’s very good, although with a little too much emphasis on my advanced age. I think you’ll also agree that it renders me very unemployable to anyone capable of using Google, and that I may need to change my name my deed poll to avoid fielding awkward questions.

Now, please…for the love of God, read Mike’s blog. He’s pretty desperate for more traffic and is now threatening to saturate the internet with photos of his naked form.