Fear and loathing

in the Cotswolds.

Photo by Arno Senoner on Unsplash

Can’t believe I’m about to tell you what I’m about to tell you.

Are you ready for this?

It. Happened. Again.

I know. You thought I was exaggerating. Or you thought, pah, no one is that rude.

Well, let me tell you: people are that rude. Or that drunk. Or that stupid. Or all three.

It has stopped being funny (to the extent it ever was) and has started to be genuinely horrifying.

Let me set the scene: cute pub a few villages over. We’re talking thatched roof, setting sun, table outside. Perfect evening on the cards.¹

We got chatting to the next table. (That’s wrong, in a few ways: actually, they started chatting to us and, actually, it was some actual people, not the table).

The woman, older, sitting with her grown daughter (NOT HER MUCH YOUNGER LESBIAN LIFE PARTNER I ASSUMED BUT WHO KNOWS, ASSUME NOTHING) fixed my son and Joel with a benign smile. They were playing chess.

“So lovely to see young people playing an actual game! Not just on their screens.”

I felt a wa…