8th April, 2010
What a glorious April afternoon in Dalston! And to my delight, the sun appears to have unleashed a deluge of bizarre activity in our eccentric little town.
Popping into Tesco to pick up some essentials, I was lured into conversation with a lady in the milk aisle, where I was helpfully informed that the look of displeasure on my face was my body’s way of letting me know that I am intolerant to lactose (not, as I had believed, related to low stock of the items I was hoping to purchase), an affliction which incidentally her husband would be able to cure using only scalp-massaging techniques at his home-surgery in Hackney Downs (an impressive skill, if true, though still irrelevant to my non-existent dairy issue).
Rob Monk encountered somone’s vinyl collection sprawled sleeveless and naked across the pavement near the D&T cafe on Kingsland Road, and I was caught somewhat off-guard by a lady pushing a buggy, who, as we passed each other outside the Yucatan Bar on Stoke Newington Road, turned and with great vehemence, greeted me with just one word: MUMMY.
(We are unrelated.)
Additionally, a man offered me both spiritual salvation and cheap calls to countries that, although the only geographical qualification in my possession is a humble GCSE, I am certain do not exist (Eximalia, anyone?) and a small child on Dalston Lane bit a man’s leg.
