The second episode in my trilogy of dangerous occurances in the heart of Anglicism.
I'm coming away from salsa one night; walking away from the city centre and toward the railway station. I had just said goodnight to my regular partner and was oblivious to the three people approaching me. They were just 2 boys and a girl who'd been out having a few beers. As you do.
My mind was miles away as one of the boys asked me "excuse me mate, do you have a fag I could borrow?".
Canterbury must be the begging centre of England. Every 20th step in Canterbury city centre has to be a John Cleese one to get past the smackheads who litter the pavements. You soon get used to shaking your head in a derisory manner.
It was this shake of the head and the contemptuously uttered "no" that I delivered that night. It was probably a bit harsh given that the begger in question was just some ordinary lad who just happened to have run out of fags, rather than a professional junky. A "I haven't mate, sorry" should have sufficed but I was caught a bit off my guard so reverted to default mode. And to be fair to him, I think he took my refusal quite well.
His mate didn't though. I guess that he was the boy who wasn't with the girl and felt he had something to prove. He commented "have you got a wallet, cos I'm going to mug you?".
Do I run? Do I throw my wallet at him? Do I punch him? No. My reaction was a gut one. I laughed at him and said "huh! the size of you!". This really wound him up. As I walked on at a dismissive gait he ranted some words of agression which included "..come on then, let's sort it out..".
Although it is likely that I could have beat the the little twat to a pulp if I'd needed to. I kept on walking and was releived that he didn't follow.
