I have had it up to here (vehemently jabs space above head) with people, in particular strange men, babbling codswallop at me.

This morning the man in the coffee shop tried to tell me, in heavily accented English, that being tall is just like being short, except you know… it’s tall instead. Because apparently the two are one and the same.

I despise this aimless and nonsensical approach to conversation. It would piss me off even if it wasn’t 8.45am, but pre-caffeine it’s akin to navigating a confabulatory assault course. I am simply not up to such exertions.

Then at lunchtime the man in the shoe shop practically ripped my left thumb from its socket. He was allegedly trying get a closer look at the ring I wear on that particular digit. (FYI it’s a simple, chunky silver affair.) He then embarked on a one-man soliloquy about finding great beauty in simplicity. Hell’s teeth, I went there to buy shoes, not throw up on yours, pal.

How I would gladly take an electric cattle prod to the behind of such bargain bucket philosophers.