It's a rainy night in Soho. A man accosts 5 bloggers outside the French House, asking for change. He is, maybe, Scottish, and well refreshed.
'I'll be honest' he says. 'I want a drink.'
Such a good sales pitch, we all give him change.
He insists on kissing the ladies, and leaves.
OyeBilly: 'He's such a liar, I bet he'll buy a cup of tea with that.'
For alternative accounts, click here and here.
Ooh, it's just like Rashomon!
About horses
4 days ago
5 comments:
PS Pixie Geldof (aka the less annoying one) was sitting at the next table in the pub where RoMo and I met. She was wearing a checked shirt, shorts with bare legs, an engine driver's cap and big old boots. When you are as young and cute as she is, you can get away with this look without appearing like a lumberjack who has turned rentboy.
I forgot the kisses, didn't I?
Tim, you were just jealous you didn't get a kiss.
I shook his hand. Did you see his hand?
My chin itched after he kissed me - I thought I had got away with it but he was such a gentleman he obviously thought that he couldn't leave the lady trying to hide in the corner out.
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