'Back to Muswell Hill, quick as you can.
Roger.' The controller urged.
'I do everything as quick as I can.' Streetgeezer replied.
'I pity your wife Roger.'
'I'm divorced.'
'A woman of taste, obviously Roger.'
In Muswell Hill he picked up an Irish couple going to Enfield.
Over the years he had experienced many Irish conversations and
been entertained by the Hibernian eloquence and wit. Even amongst
the working classes the liberal use of the word fuck is only
verbal punctuation between the poetic phraseology missing in the
argot of the English working class. Words like bamboozle and
blarney decorate their sentences. Words chosen for their sound,
their texture, their irony and most of all 'for the crack'. They
will say things like 'I've a fierce thirst.'. Carefully chosen
adjectives emphasise their lust for Guinness.
The other characteristic of Irish conversation is the relentless
way that two strangers will probe into each other's past to find
common ground; a place or relative or a mutual friend back home.
The couple got out by a pub called The Falcon in South Street,
with what appeared to be a real First World War gun standing
outside.
'That's eight pounds.' Streetgeezer told them.
'How are you for change?' The husband asked.
'I've got practically none, just tenners.'
'Well I'll give you this twenty and you give me the ten, then
I've just got to give you the two.'
For once Streetgeezer did not argue, not for the four pounds but
for the crack of the telling.