Captain Crisps and FagEndBoy

It was a lunchtime expedition to buy some holiday reading from the shopping mall near work. In Angel. Angel’s such a lovely name for a place. I love that I visit an Angel everyday. Anyway.

Walking toward Borders, we noticed a man dressed as an enormous crisp packet, with a woman, talking to some people ernestly. The ginormous crisp packet that the man was wearing had ‘Wasters’ written on it.

Closer to the shop, there was a gargantuan cigarette walking around, approaching shoppers and engaging them in something. I didn’t know what he wanted to talk them about so desperately. I didn’t really want to find out. I didn’t really fancy approaching a big fag-end for conversation.

Leaving the shop, four books later, we were startled by an urgent conversation going on outside.

“You should pick that up” said the enormous crisp packet. “We’re cracking down on litter, you should pick that up”

“No” Said the embarrassed looking man. “Why should I?”

“‘Cause we’re cracking down on litter”, said the crisp packet.

“But you are litter”, said the man.

“No, I’m from Islington council, and I can fine you 50 if you don’t pick that up”

“How am I supposed to take you seriously?” Said the litterbug. “You’re a crisp packet”

“I’m a crisp packet who’s about to fine you 50”, said the crisp packet.

And the man bent down and picked up the cigarette butt (not the ginormous one with a man inside it, the little one that he’d dropped on the floor), and took it to a nearby bin. Then, suitably embarrassed, he and his litter-bug-missus scuttled away into the crowd.

It’s got to take the shine off your manhood, being publically admonished by a snack food wrapper.