What is it about me today? I do believe I must have stepped in a turd. Why else these toxic looks from everyone I pass; the scowls, the bridling, the head-to-toe once-overs. Do I smell? Here I am minding my own business and yet everyone I see seems to be taking personal issue with my existence. Their eyes avoid mine as if to ward off some dreaded unwanted phrase: “Spare some change, luv”, perhaps. “Good morning,” I more or less scream at my newsagent in an attempt at a hearty greeting but I get nothing in return, just my change then a grimace.
Ah, but that’s better. Now that I have a copy of The Times and The Economist tucked under my arm, people are