We had this great idea, we'd go to our local Indian restaurant for a curry. Hardly novel, not really exciting, and certainly not glamorous. But we have spent many evenings there, good food and excellent service.
When we walked in, the only other customers were a party of a dozen or so. I noticed them but didn't think about them; large parties are nothing unusual.
Then as we munched our poppadoms and perused the menu, I realised who the other party was. And they hadn't even ordered their food, although they soon put in their order for their second round of drinks.
Loud and common. I told myself, ignore them. There's no crime in being common. When I say common, I don't mean a 'bit rough around the edges', I mean 'rough all the way through'. The women cackled, the men struggled to string together words, let alone sentences, and did it loudly.
Worst of all, one by one, as they processed to the Gents, they said hello to Jimmy. And stopped and talked, about nothing. Completely failing to notice that I was there, failing to acknowledge my existence even by a smile or a nod, let alone Hello, how are you, or excusing themselves for interrupting our active conversation.
Kim took our order, suggesting that if we ordered quickly he'd do ours before theirs. Meantime, Kim and our favourite waiter, whose name I forget, were giving us looks. Diplomatic looks of 'no, we're not looking forward to tonight either, we know there's going to be trouble, what on earth are you doing here, wouldn't you be better off going somewhere else?'
Having ordered, we popped out for a cigarette. One of the party called out "Going already?" So Jimmy explained that we were going for a cigarette. Someone from their table exclaimed "I'm dying for a fag!". No sooner are we out there, when half of them follow us.
They didn't know it's okay to pop out of a restaurant to get a quick smoke! Presumably because they've not been to a restaurant in all the time (two years plus) since the smoking ban. And it's not that they're poor, the couple who I know the best (that is, their names, and to say hello to her and glare at him) can spend a hundred pounds in the pub in one day.
We deliberately turn our backs on them and contrive a conversation with each other about the weather forecast. We're not in their company, don't want to be in their company, and are happy not to interfere in their evening.
Then Bill the Gypsy King himself comes out and squeezes the back of my neck. Remember, I purposely have my back to his party, I barely know him, and he's a disgusting dirty slob of a lump with snot constantly running from his nose, and his vans and lorries littered all round Brixton/Streatham Hills parked often illegally and dangerously.
I snap at him to keep his hands to himself. He goes on about something or other. I say that he has just assaulted me. He tells Jimmy to keep me under control. His wife comes out and I address Bill - how dare you speak to me like that, who the hell do you think you are.
Margaret argues he was being friendly, I point out to her that she wasn't there so didn't know what happened, and maybe she should keep him under control. She protests that they know me from The Sultan.
I refrain from pointing out that I haven't been in The Sultan for years, literally. I refrain from pointing out that on that basis, I know thousands of people better than I know them. I refrain from suggesting she broadens her horizons a little beyond one back street pub (and Leysdown).
I simply retort something like 'you don't know me' (because anyone who does know me surely knows not to grope me). We settled up with Kim and I explained that I couldn't stand Bill. Both Kim and the waiter apologised, I stressed it wasn't anything for them to apologise for. And we went to the Taj Mahal, which is fine, but it isn't our Local.
Today Jimmy mentioned the incident to a friend of his. It turns out, her daughter was in the Sultan on Saturday and Bill did the exact same thing to her; she told him to fuck off. And someone else reminded Jimmy of when Bill had grabbed the breasts of the daughter of the ex-landlord of the Sultan.
Jimmy says that Bill is stupid, and has no common sense. If only it were that simple. He is one of those oafs (I won't dignify with the word 'man') whose instinct tells him - I won't flatter him by suggesting that he thinks - that he has dominion over women. Telling him to lay off makes no difference, because physical abuse is such an inherent part of his being. He cannot compute or imagine what is so objectionable about his behaviour.
A few weeks ago I was watching TV, a police show, almost certainly Waking the Dead. Some sociopathic male was being interviewed by a female professional (police, psychologist, I forget).
He parried her question with 'I see you're another of those man-hating women'. Being a professional, she deflected it and didn't rise to the bait.
It crossed my mind that the perfect riposte is along the lines of 'You encounter a lot of those, do you? Have you ever thought the man-hating is directed specifically at your loathsome self and not at men in general'. Although, of course, that would be woosh over the head of those oafs.
