mostly david ephgrave

Anyone who follows me on Twitter will probably have noticed that I have a bit of a fascination for overhearing snippets of conversation. There’s nothing voyeuristic about it. I’m not snooping. I just enjoy the confusion that often comes with hearing a statement entirely out of context.  For a split second you are let into someone else’s world – and just as you’re getting comfortable, the door slams shut, with you left on the outside, trying to suss out the circumstances. The best ones often involve mobile phones. Hearing just one side of the conversation only adds to the confusion. Sometimes, you are left intrigued: ...and other times, the mundanity captures your imagination: One thing all these overheard conversations serve to illustrate is: none of us know what we're doing. We all stumble our way amateurishly through life, trying to make the best of our circumstances. Nothing is rehearsed, and as...

Yesterday afternoon, for a good few minutes, I suspected an old woman of repeatedly touching my bum up in a queue. I should probably rephrase that: less 'a good few minutes', more 'a terrifying ordeal' . It kept happening with startling regularity. I was getting a little concerned; ‘surely this can’t be happening here ?’, I thought to myself. (Not that there’s a place where being repeatedly groped by a geriatric is acceptable.) The woman had been giving my derrière so much attention that I was starting to feel like a male Jennifer Lopez. Maybe my bottom would bring about my fortune? I’d always suspected it.   I was starting to wonder how to address it. It was ridiculous: she was groping me and yet I was the one who felt embarrassed about it.  I didn't know how to phrase my complaint. “Sorry, could you please just stop touching my arse” just seemed too aggressive. Maybe I should have just given her a little win...