Dirty little scummers

They're everywhere. I am up on my high-horse about them because one recently tried to mug me to fund his smack habit.

It happened when I was using a cashpoint: I noticed a guy was standing too close to me. Then I went to cross the road and he started to follow me. So I turned around and went into a nearby shop, he went back to standing by the cashpoint. I went out again to cross the road and he started to follow me again. At this point I got a little bit concerned.

But how could I tell he was trouble? Well, you know, you just can. Now, I am not generally a believer in physiognomy but this guy had chipped, weird-ass teeth, a Pete Doherty complexion and most telling of all, a really small head. Seriously, it was freakishly tiny and covered in ginger fuzz. It looked like he was balancing an orange on his shoulders.

Also, I happened to see him getting chucked out of his house (or hovel or whatever) by his misses a few days previously. She had just abandoned him by the local shops - they were having a blazing row and she told him not to come back home.

By a strange coincidence, they were outside a greengrocer. Maybe she's met someone with a more exotic piece of fruit for a head. Possibly papaya. Maybe melon. Could even be custard apple. Ho ho fucking ho.

But anyway, he started following me a second time and my army training kicked in. My computer game training, anyway. I spun around and looked him in the eye. At least I assume it was the eye, but it could have just been a Del Monte sticker.

"Alright mate?" I said as confidently as I could manage.

"Wsfugguritum" he replied, turning around and going back to the cash point.

Fucking yeah, score one for law and order! Hooray! You been told, orange head. They call me the fruit knife and I'm gonna take your life, squish you up and show you to your wife. I'm the smoothie maker and I'm coming to juice you to a pulp. Don't mess with me, motherfucker. I made my way home, glancing backwards regularly.

It should be noted that this was a very risky strategy, not to be tried unless you don't mind being stabbed in the brain with HIV-infected syringes. I mean, I got lucky, but in retrospect it would have been a better idea to go in the shop and call the police. But we're all dead clever with hindsight, right?