What are the odds?


Walking home from Brixton station you see lots. It’s great for people watching.

If you people watch often enough you’ll spot something that you realise in your life time you’ll never see again. These occasions are special, and today I saw one of these such events.

As I walked past TK Maxx I noticed the man walking in front of me. He was a tall, broad man with a blonde shaved head. The backs of his arms were covered in tattoos. He was carrying an open can of Red Stripe and striding with purpose ahead of me.

As I wondered where he was headed he stopped outside the William Hill betting shop on the high street. He shook his can a little. Supposedly there was still a bit liquid inside, as he proceeded to reach up and placed it on the narrow edge under the tattered slightly faded shop signage.

The man in question ducked inside (as I said he was tall).

As I passed the shop, another unshaven, elderly gentleman came out of the betting shop, pausing by the doorway to tuck his betting slip safely into the breast pocket of his beaten old brown leather jacket. I then clocked what was about to happen.

The odds were definitely stacked against him…


The poor man got the fright of his life when the precariously balanced beer can came flying down on to his head. The remaining dregs of red stripe splattered down his front and on my shoes.

I got off lightly, and the comedy value of the whole scenario was totally worth the need to wash the beer off my leopard print sneakers.


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