THE BOUNCER

Well it’s official. The world is now messed up enough for there to be a bouncer on the door at Waitrose.

I’m here in the café causing trouble by mixing up the cutlery again. You might remember of course, the occasion when I once had to butter my bread roll with a teaspoon. It looks like I might have to do so again.

Just what kind of shenanigans are they expecting? Middle class tugs of war over the quinoa and the sourdough flour? There are pensioners in today, trying to finish the crossword over tea and buns; hope it doesn’t kick off!

He was a tall man, shiny-suited, with a yellow arm band and ID tag, wrapped around his trunk-like bicep. His neck was the same width as his head.

“Afternoon sir,” he nodded politely as I swept by and into the shop.

“Alright,” I said instinctively. It’s long been my suspicion that we’ve organically developed this greeting as a society. I’ve got no idea whether other cultures use the classic ‘alright’ in quite the same way. It seemed to do for today, as always it does, as anything from a ‘hello’ to a ‘fine-thank-you’. It covers all the bases does ‘alright’.

I was in the store and halfway down the newspaper aisle before I made a puzzled face.

There are a couple of screaming toddlers I suppose. And plenty of cool old-people wearing denim and trainers. In fact, if anything, I might be the only person in this café lowering the class of clientele, with my scruffy jumper and unkempt hair. Ah well. Maybe I’m coming across as ‘bohemian’ and not just ‘lazy’.

My soup’s arrived. It’s ‘winter vegetable’ and they’re sorry they don’t have any white rolls so I’ve chosen brown whole meal, which if anything, is actually tastier. There are of course, still no knives, so I’m back to spoon-buttering after all.

Also, because I’m hip, fly, and generally the coolest cat in this club, I’m sitting at the back, having a posh brew in a flowery tea pot. Rock and roll, man. La vida loca! And if the bouncer has any problem with this bohemian, tea-drinking, winter-vegetable-soup-slurper, he knows where to find me before he throws me out with a buttery tea spoon and the riff-raff.