When Nutters can’t help acting on impulse…

I seem to have a face that invites every nutter in the western universe to come have a chat with me! All I have to do is sit on public transport (they will make a beeline for me, sit down and immediately launch into an explanation of how their home planet of Schzltstzomentaliocs is planning to invade Dublin….) or stand still on a street (they will materialize beside me and start ranting about how I ruined their life in 1650 when we were both kitchen maids in a castle in England – not joking, this one actually happened to me) In short, I am a magnet for every nutjob in Ireland.

This morning’s adventure was courtesy of a wino outside Dunnes on Sth Great George’s Street. Since the Sally Army opened their “wet hostel” in the area everywhere from Aungier Street to Dame Street is plagued by drunks. They beat up the homeless, attack businesses, rob anything not nailed down and generally intimidate and bully anyone with whom they come into contact. Then they repair to the Sally Army hostel to finish their night’s drinking before hopping into taxis of a morning and going home to their council owned homes. All, by the way, at the expense of Joe and Joan Taxpayer. If you ever want a good laugh go round to the Sally Army and complain about the effect their misguided and ill-run hostel has had on the area; you’d never imagine employees of the God Bothering Squad even knew such launguage! They have the same Public Relations skills as the Hitler Youth.

Anyway, being a little grumpy myself this morning, courtesy of a very good dinner party last night and resentful of the fact that I’m in work today, I decided to trot around to the shops and treat myself to a packet of Tayto (cheese and onion) and a bottle of Bannana Milkshake. Clutching my treats, I was stomping back to work when a voice suddenly bellowed into my left ear “you’ve a FINE pair on ya, luv!” I jumped about three feet in the air and turned, bug-eyed, to find myself facing the most repellent example of humanity I have ever seen. Only a lifetime of dedicated abuse could have invested his appearance with that level of sheer evil and post-apocalyptic veneer. He was about two inches from my face and he continued to shout “Get your TITS out, G’won!” He desperately needed an encounter with a toothbrush and a tube of Colgate.

I did what anyone would do in these circumstances, I turned bright red, muttered bravely under my breath and turned to leg it. At which point, to my utter horror he started to run after me shouting loudly “Big Tits” every couple of steps. I passed a crowd of Spanish students who obviously thought this was some piece of Beckett-like street theatre because they began to applaud and two young men whose response to my damsel in distress was to look pointedly at my chest area to see if the persuing nutter was telling the truth.

I finally turned on him when I got to the corner outside Jaipur restaurant and roared back “Will you please leave me alone!” at which he stopped in his tracks, looked completely affronted and snapped at me “There’s no need to be rude ya stuck up b*tch!” Then he turned to the gathering crowd of gawpers and appealed to them, “You can’t give a women an effing compliment these days!”

I knew I should have stayed in bed.