Fucking Jesus, what is it about short blokes and booze?
Even nice short blokes turn into utter cunts when they've had a skinful, but today's fuckmonkey topped the scales. I was standing on a London station, minding my own business, just trying to work out what platform the next train home would be on, when this short little cunt bounded up to me, shook my hand and then started telling me his life story.
Which apparently included him being an East End gangster "wiv Rolex watches, a Ferrari and a Rolls" who had "killed dozens of kaffirs" in South Africa while stealing Krugerrands, "innit?" "Just told him to drive the fahcking van or I'd blow his fahcking head off."
Oh, and he couldn't stop telling me about his fahcking barn conversion, either. Or shaking my fahcking hand, either. And he was ex-fahcking-SAS as well.
Anyway, I know what he was really looking for. He had started alluding to it before he mercifully staggered off in the wrong direction ... he was looking for a fight. Why is it that blokes think that the best thing they can do when they are drunk is pick a fight with someone who is can see over their head?