Monday, 11 March 2013


I have been super busy with life and all that. I have had to actually leave the house, which has been really rather disconcerting. However I have avoided interacting with strangers, for the most part, who really are most unpleasant.

Although I did encounter an individual who decided to shout ‘Oi Oi’ at me the other day. I assume it was to me, it was late at night, there was no one else about, he seemed to be looking in my general direction (so hard to tell when their eyes can’t focus) and he was frothing slightly through his beard. 

I say ‘beard’ and there definitely was something attached to his face, but it could easily have been the carcass of a small badger or relatively large stoat.

I have never been quite sure of the appropriate response to ‘Oi Oi’! Especially when bellowed in such a cheery manner, the kind of manner which Captain Pugwash imbues. Do you bellow ‘Oi Oi’ back in a similar fashion, much in the same way you would respond to ‘how do you do’?

Or do you reply with a single ‘Oi’? Would that be deemed to be threatening to the ‘Oi Oi’ monger? As in ‘Oi, get your hands off that fruit machine’. I hesitate to suggest ‘Oi Oi Oi’ as I have the distinct feeling that I may begin something that would never cease.

Both ‘yes’ and ‘no’ seem far to clear cut: by saying ‘Yes’ I may inadvertently agree to some hideously awful thing, or indeed by uttering ‘no’ I may offend the ‘Oi Oi’ party and set myself up for something almost as bad as that which I may have agreed to with the ‘yes’ response.

A smile and a nod is absolutely out of the question.

So what did I do? I am certain that you are on the edge of your seat wondering; knowing that I must be at least partially alive in order to be relating this tale to you, and now you wish to take my sage advice so that you may also apply it when you inevitably find yourself in a similar ‘Oi Oi’ situation.

Well, as I was formulating my very cleverest response, a fox appeared, darting this way and that, ready with his ninja moves whilst I was distracted by badger-face and his bottle of indeterminate liquid.

The fox was quick as a snitch! And, taking advantage of my diverted defences, he slipped his snout into my handbag and nicked my copy of ‘The Art of War’ (Not the Sun Tzu one, the one by Machiavelli. I like that one.)

Curse that sneaky, sneaky fox! Now made sneakier by his sudden access to this classic of Florentine literature. 

Determined to at least overcome one danger, I turned back to ‘Oi Oi’ man, only to find him gone, meandering down Kebab Alley (I’m sure that’s a euphemism and not a real place) without a care in the world occasionally yelping ‘Oi Oi’ like the last lonely call of the one remaining ‘Oi Oi’ bird.

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