Friday night must be a smashing time for people asking for money, if - well, any time could be smashing. Perhaps profitable would be a more kindlier word. Yes, kindlier is a word too.
Anyway, there we were, heaving and hogging the pavement outside the pub on the corner on a Saturday night; drinking, spilling, talking, spending, when along comes a rather red-cheeked, happy looking chap, cup-in-hand, asking for money. Now, it's pretty difficult to say you haven't got any, especially since you've probably just been over-heard declaring 'It's my round! What'll you have!' at the top of your proud, rich, I've-Just-Got-Paid voice so the chances are, you'll dip delve in to your paid pockets and pull something out. Perhaps you'll even be drunk enough to only look at it briefly before passing it on, bar-bound and smiling at the office-crush about how caring (slash rich) you are, and nothing of the Bateman sort at all. Now, everyone in my group ignored the red faced wanderer, perhaps because they've got more than used to his face than they'd like (thank you very much) but I, being the new girl at work, had never seen The Red Cheeked One before, so did indeed dip and delve albeit without office crush to grin glitter at. Whereas the wire-man didn't get a look in on the old £2, this beggar boy did (oh come on, I like alliteration, I'm not being mean). Cheeks a-flushing more than ever, he thanked me, before telling me and the group (happy now that someone else had paid) 'Wherever you are in life. You're there'
Aesop would have been proud. What wise words from the red one.
See you there then.
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