and Irish telephoning
And I don't suppose he'd have approved of an exchange that actually did take place at Liverpool Street station. As usual, hardly any telephones were working: only a couple in the battery of booths. Both were occupied. In one a girl kept chattering, opening the door from time to time: not, however, to leave but merely to let some fresh air in. She fanned herself with the door. So I decided to queue in front of a man, thinking he wouldn't go on as long. He went on and on and on. He also kept looking outside, and could see that people were waiting. When he finally came out I said to him, 'You're an ignorant and selfish bastard'. He looked put out and said, 'What do you mean by that?' So I repeated my words. He said 'What do you mean. I paid me money.' He was an Irishman. Mr Bonham Carter, I could tell by his Irish accent.
So I said to him that he ought to return to the bogs he came from.
He said. 'What do you mean? I paid me money.' I went into the booth.
It stank. He still stood outside. I said to him. 'And it stinks in here.'
'Oh.' he said. 'it's like that, is it?'
'Yes.' I said, 'it's like that.'
'Bloody capitalist,' he said slouching off.
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