Tonight, as I was leaving the Argyll Arms before busking, I got buttonholed by a woman on the stairs leading down from the toilets.
“Here,” she said to me. “Do you know who you remind me of?”
“I’ve no idea,” I replied.
“Barry Gibb,” she said.
I paused a moment.
“I don’t know if that’s a compliment or not, but thank you,” I said, eventually.
“Of course it’s a compliment,” she said. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“Of course,” I replied. “I only wish I could sing half as well as he could.”
She laughed. I smiled.
“So where are you from, then?”
I stopped smiling.
“London.” Said I. Because I am.
“Really? How come you’re so dark then?”
I am not a guy who can claim to be anything other than white. Though I do have dark brown eyes and dark brown hair. And a mainly dark brown beard, except for the grey bits.
“I don’t know…” I tried not to glare too openly at her.
“Are you of Jewish descent?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Where in London are you from? Golders Green?”
“Oh I know, near Essex.”
“No, near Kenton.”
“Right,” she said.
“Right,” I said. And fled.
Fuck you, UKIP.