436. 2pm. Bottom deck, standing.
It was a Sunday and the bus was full of churchgoers in decorative headgear. Standing where I was, I overheard two choice snippets about the night before. Both men, in their late thirties, were on their phones:
This from a very dapper black man with salon dreads. I’m a media person so I know one when I see one. And I saw one: ‘Yeah, it went really well… Tinchy was there… Kasabian… Jack White… the whole gang. Great crowd. Yeah, fab… Ha! And then you’ll never guess, Kanye turned up at the end… what a joker…’
This from a white Essex man in a shiny shirt: ‘Yeah mate, Lord Golf Country Club, L-O-R-D, in Rayleigh Essex, once every three months. Soul, funk… it’s an older crowd to be honest, mate, an older crowd, you know what to expect… yeah, elbows, not much teeth left… not much to choose from mate, I’ll be honest… well, no, there were some…’
I love morning-after low-downs.