The unknowing 'straight man'

On the rather arduous journey from Boston Manor back into town last on my way to meet Auntie H, Sophie and Dean for dinner - an older man - who was a right mess to be honest - got on the tube. He had all the characteristics of the old London boozer (the friendly, but completely mad type).

The first giveaway should have been the uniform. From the bottom up:

1. Black shoes, half laces, loosely tied.
2. Woolly socks that had long since lost the colour their maker had originally intended.
3. Loose fitting track suit pants - a purple'ish hue
4. Shirt AND jersey both firmly tucked into tracksuit pants and secured by unfixed black belt. The jersey was a sort of 'lunchtime and everything that had gone before' colour. Yummy.
5. Topped with some stubble, half a dozen teeth, and cap.

It was brilliant - the whole kit and caboodle. Being the nice guy I am I offered him my seat. Bad move...

He declined; but I had made a friend for the next ten stops. HE WAS HILARIOUS - ABSOLUTELY BED WETTINGLY FUNNY. "Ya witching the f'ball?" he spat onto me. "Yeah mate" I replied, drying myself. "Oh, Inglund nay bloody gid, it dat bloody swede ‘tis it". In between each sentence he would wheeze like an elderly dog on its last legs and then cry a short sharp cackle that filled the carriage.

I continued to engage, "How do you think the Irish will go tonight?” "

“He he he, oooohhh, green, no bloody chance - it's all bloody over - it is - over - all bloody over – fackin Irish? Ohhhh, no gid – no chance, it’s all over" wheeze, wheeze, belly cackle. By this point our ‘conversation’ was sport for the entire carriage.

I'm pissed off that I can't do it justice - it was brilliant, and as with all good tales, it ends with the moral; during the conversation I had let slip that I was going to miss the game on account of dinner with the Auntie. This, I thought, had been lost amongst the cries of "it's all over, HA, over, it's all over, 'tis mind, over..." - but it hadn't.

I am sure this guy new the whole carriage was having a laugh at him (and at poor me for that matter!); and they were probably feeling a bit sorry for him.

Just as I got up to leave and wished him well for the game, he grabbed my arm, leaned in and said clear as a bell; "Enjoy dinner with your Auntie, you're a good lad" and gave me a subtle wink. I turned and began to leave, from over my shoulder - "Ya witching the f'ball? HA! ‘Tis all over!” And so began Act 2, without me.