Three or two (they
were really big guys, so there may have been only two, but mass-wise
they looked three) rugby players were posing for a photo outside a local
charitable establishment which specialises in supporting the homeless and drunks in their genuine efforts to remain homeless and drunk. The photo was to be
published on the establishment's website or one of its walls and,
possibly, in some obscure, never-read (apart by the authors)
newsletter to commemorate a donation made by the guys' sports
club. Next to the players stood two or three (not because of their being especially big or small, but because I didn't count properly) members of staff.
I had some business there that day and stopped by the small party to enquire what was going on. After I found out, I wanted to shoot off, but then remembered I was in Britain where one is supposed to try not to be impolite too openly, so I decided to do a spot of small talk first. 'Isn't that a funny shape you chose for your ball?' I said.... joking; I just asked a boring question about their position in one league or another. Just as one of the players, a tall, handsome Anglo-Saxon, was giving me a boring answer, a couple of drunks walked past us. One of them gave the players a nihilistic look and said: “F*** you!” The young blonde, and quite beautiful, man I was talking to stopped mid-sentence, gave me a swift, apologetic look, then turned to the drunk and – in a most impressive show of British good manners, straightforwardness and, well, effectivness – replied in a friendly voice, placing a gentle emphasis on the second syllable: “F*** you.”
P.S. My landlord's head, in case you wondered, managed to avoid a speeding train after all; however, he didn't manage to avoid getting arrested, spending the night under the supervision of the local sheriff and being told to make an appearance before a local Justice of Peace in the near future.
I had some business there that day and stopped by the small party to enquire what was going on. After I found out, I wanted to shoot off, but then remembered I was in Britain where one is supposed to try not to be impolite too openly, so I decided to do a spot of small talk first. 'Isn't that a funny shape you chose for your ball?' I said.... joking; I just asked a boring question about their position in one league or another. Just as one of the players, a tall, handsome Anglo-Saxon, was giving me a boring answer, a couple of drunks walked past us. One of them gave the players a nihilistic look and said: “F*** you!” The young blonde, and quite beautiful, man I was talking to stopped mid-sentence, gave me a swift, apologetic look, then turned to the drunk and – in a most impressive show of British good manners, straightforwardness and, well, effectivness – replied in a friendly voice, placing a gentle emphasis on the second syllable: “F*** you.”
P.S. My landlord's head, in case you wondered, managed to avoid a speeding train after all; however, he didn't manage to avoid getting arrested, spending the night under the supervision of the local sheriff and being told to make an appearance before a local Justice of Peace in the near future.
