I like them. Laden with all these new possessions, I go and sit at a table. And don’t ask me what the table was like because this was some time ago and I can’t remember. It was probably round.
All right.
So let me give you the layout. Me sitting at the table. On my left, the newspaper. On my right, the cup of coffee. In the middle of the table, the packet of biscuits.
I see it perfectly.
What you don’t see, said Arthur, because I haven’t mentioned him yet, is the guy sitting at the table already. He is sitting there opposite me.
What’s he like?
Perfectly ordinary. Briefcase. Business suit. He didn’t look, said Arthur, as if he was about to do anything weird.
Ah. I know the type. What did he do?
He did this. He leaned across the table, picked up the packet of biscuits, tore it open, took one out, and…
What?
Ate it.
What?
He ate it.
Fenchurch looked at him in astonishment. What on Earth did you do?
Well, in the circumstances I did what any red-blooded Englishman would do. I was compelled, said Arthur, to ignore it.
What? Why?
Well, it’s not the sort of thing you’re trained for is it? I searched my soul, and discovered that there was nothing anywhere in my upbringing, experience or even primal instincts to tell me how to react to someone who has quite simply, calmly, sitting right there in front of me, stolen one of my biscuits.
Well, you could… Fenchurch thought about it. I must say I’m not sure what I would have done either. So what happened?
I stared furiously at the crossword, said Arthur. Couldn’t do a single clue, took a sip of coffee, it was too hot to drink, so there was nothing for it. I braced myself. I took a biscuit, trying very hard not to notice, he added, that the packet was already mysteriously open…
But you’re fighting back, taking a tough line.
After my fashion, yes. I ate the biscuit. I ate it very deliberately and visibly, so that he would have no doubt as to what it was I was doing. When I eat a biscuit, Arthur said, it stays eaten.
So what did he do?
Took another one. Honestly, insisted Arthur, this is exactly what happened. He took another biscuit, he ate it. Clear as daylight. Certain as we are sitting on the ground.
Fenchurch stirred uncomfortably.
And the problem was, said Arthur, that having not said anything the first time, it was somehow even more difficult to broach the subject the second time around. What do you say? “Excuse me… I couldn’t help noticing, er…” Doesn’t work. No, I ignored it with, if anything, even more vigour than previously.
My man…