Sinister: I ding dong merrily, I'm high

[Williams Adam (Mr A)]

aah.
You see, having posted i wait. And I wait. Then about four and a half hours
later, my message still not having appeared and used as i am to them
disappearing into the ether without so much as a rejection response, I
re-send. And, consequently my message DOES appear twice. Arse. i apologise
profusely, but I have been under some not inconsiderable strain of late. My
mind has been plagued with a recent event but my therapist is an oaf with a
Milwall FC pen and would not begin to understand. So, like Mel C, I turn to
you my dear Sinisterettes, sure as I am of your discernment due to your
avowed musical preferences. Let me illuminate you.
  I am a man of impeccable breeding and discernment. Sent down to improve
and edify those less refined than myself by the powers that be, I have
successfully infiltrated all sectors of society and bought Titian to
Toxteth, Mozart to Mile End, Goethe to the Gorbals. Call me a missionary if
you will, it's a position I accept. 
  Alas, however, although my faculties are great my means are finite. Thus
after a period of some self-denial, I was able to afford a fine '76 Veuve
Cliquot I had been hampering after for some months. A night of joy, one will
surely agree, lay ahead. But calamity lay along those darkened streets from
the merchant to the maisonette. The usual hurdling of the homeless was easy
enough, but how was I  able to anticipate interception by a blackguardly
youth?
 Stepping out the shadows with a Stanley knife he sneered at me. "What you
got in the bag, prick?"
Now, i fear no-one and nothing, and rather than take this as a threat, i
decided to take it as an opportunity. To drink alone is a tragedy, so why
not wean this infant off his 'Special Brew' (pah! 'tis the milk from a
dastardly whore!) and introduce him to the finer things in life. My god, I
could even play him Electronic Renaissance!  
I reached into the bag, brandished the bottle. Wanting him to read the label
I thrust the bottle into his face. Oops. i swear he edged forwards but the
glass shattered as swiftly as the bridge of his nose. What had I done? I had
to make amends.
  I noticed the break (the bottle, obviously) had been clean and most of the
precious nectar was still in the 60% of the receptacle i was holding by it's
neck. We could still share a drink after all...
  I adopted the tone one must with these common types - a brusque street
drawl with profane inflection. In my role as educator, I felt a
paternalistic tone of address was necessary.  So, parrying and thrusting (I
cut a dapper figure with the foil) the bottle towards him so he could sample
the bouquet, i stated "Come on sunshine, you fucking want some?", and the
scamp scampered. Half a bottle gone and a social rejection in the same
evening.
  Really, some of the plebiscite have no manners. 
Be slinky,
a.
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