A Walk Through Town

I walked through town centre today, among the throngs of aimless shoppers, curious tourists, and people who just look generally unpleasant.

I saw the Jauntiest Busker, one of the Scarborough Legends. He can be recognised by the repetitive (but jaunty) tune he plays on the guitar, and the variety of different songs he manages to sing to that same tune. Honestly, I’ve heard him do Jingle Bells at Christmas, and Leaving on a Jet Plane the other week, both to the same tune on the guitar. You’ve got to be really jaunty to pull that off.


But then terror struck me! Whilst I had been ruminating on the Jauntiest Busker, I had walked into that most unpleasant of urban situations, charity workers. Without noticing I had walked within mere meters of four people who were unsuccessfully trying to get bank account details off passer-bys. Usually I would take evasive action well in advance, but it was too late now, what could I do?

I had to keep on walking; if they noticed me just stood there I would be a sitting duck. I tried to think of a plan. But no, I was too late. One peeled off from the pride and came over to me, smiling widely over his massive face. He knew he had me.

But then an idea came to me, possibly the worst idea ever. I would avoid his advances by pretending not to speak English.


“Hello!” He said. “Fancy pledging some money for some needy children?”

“Qui?” I replied hesitantly.

“Pardon?” He said.

“El donsprat tu von peterroll” I quickly retorted, cursing myself inwardly for my lack of knowledge about other languages.

“Do you speak any English?” He asked, looking vaguely uncomfortable. I loved that feeling of power.

“Funtort ist krimtoll, no, no English” I said, affecting a strange accent.

“Right, then okay.” He said, “Where’re you from?”

“Erm…. Burundi” I stuttered. And I walked away.

I don’t know if he believed me, but at least it was more awkward for him than it was for me.