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.