Gibburt

Last night, I met up with fellow Gibburtian Philip for the first time in ages. As we were walking across Waterloo Bridge, we encountered a young fellow riding piggyback on another, while giving detailed advice on how to hold him more securely. Later, we were approached by a couple of hoodied teenagers who asked us if we knew any fast food joints where they could get a meal and run off without paying. They thought Philip was Scottish and insisted that my accent was a mixture of South London and Scouse.

As I came home shortly after midnight, I saw a young man urinating against the wall right next to my window. When I gave expression to my outrage with an indignant clearing of the throat, he turned around and explained “I’m playing poker, mate, I’m playing poker.” I could only manage a feeble “Right…” in response, but he assured me “I really am!”

Once inside, I noticed a grain of rice on my desk. I hadn’t had rice for several weeks. The kitchen, to my dismay, had again been appropriated by ants. Only this time they didn’t seem at all interested in any crumbs of food spilled on the floor or the worktops, but were all crawling over and around the light switch.

Who was the young man playing poker with? How did the rice end up on my desk? What is the best place for stealing food around Waterloo? Is giving other people piggyback rides a new way of making money for poor students? Or is it just a form of latently homosexual male bonding? Do light switches have a religious significance for our formicidae cousins? Did the ants maybe leave the rice on my table? Or had the thuggish youngsters stolen food from my kitchen and eaten it in my room? Has my love of The Beatles inspired me to adopt the local accent of a city I’ve never been to? Aren’t we all playing poker without realizing it?

I’m deeply confused. Please help me.

Filed under: WtF by Ralf Damaschke