Histoire

"Would you buy from a gypsy?"

Those, my friends, were the immortal words that stopped me in my tracks whilst I was quietly trying to make my way to the train station. I made several school girl errors at this point. The first was made slightly before this point actually - not having my ipod in. The second was my complete failure to think on my feet and give some sort of reply other than, "Errrrrr". My thought process at this point was something along the lines of,

"Shit. She's obviously a gypsy. What do I say? If I say yes then she'll try and sell me some heather. Or a jeep. Or try and block pave my driveway. If I say no she might try and put a curse on my family. Or stab me. Or mug me properly as opposed to just pickpocketing me in a non violent way."

All of this jumbling up in my brain, passing through my nerve endings to my mouth culminating in the entirely quotable, "Errrrr."

I should really set the scene a bit more. Mainly how I was dressed. I think this is fairly important. Not because I think I'm a fashion icon and everyone NEEDS to know what I'm wearing at any given point but for reasons which will become apparent. Basically I got a bit excited at having my whole wardrobe at my disposal and ended up wearing an 80s black mini dress with some tartan tights (yes. Tartan.), leopard print ballet pumps and one of my many glittery/sparkly cardigans. Oh and a massive pink plastic necklace with a heart hanging off of it. And a massive bag that looks like an American school bus. So. With this in mind I'll crash on. In fact, maybe at this juncture you should do a little doodle. Your vision of my outfit if you will. Or maybe I'll get to the point.

Having asked me if I'd ever buy anything from a gypsy I followed up my stunning first liner with, "I don't have any money". Clearly a lie. She doesn't seem that bothered though. She's talking at me. Quietly and very quickly. It was a bit like being an extra in Snatch. Apart from she didn't look like Brad Pitt. And Guy Ritchie wasn't behind the camera saying, "I'm a cockney, I'm a cockney, I love ale, me Mrs has totally bitch whipped me". More importantly, what SHE said next was, "You're not a liar", looking me straight in the eye. Clearly I am. I have just lied. To her face. I'm cursed. I'm going to die a slow horrible death. She continues, "You're going to make your fortune in design. You have a head for business. You'll have your own business and you'll make a fortune". Clearly I know this isn't true. If I jacked in my career tomorrow my parents would kill me. Slowly. Horribly. Knowing the ludicrousness of this statement I start to laugh. "Don't laugh at me", she snaps. I have never stopped laughing so quickly in my life. She then goes on to tell me I'm a free spirit and I'll never be tied down. Then she makes a few guesses about relationships and commitment and rounds off her reading with I'll move to a hot country (I have the teeniest colour on me at the moment). See how I'm going to tie all these threads together now? See?

She was essentially a scary lady full of bull shit that said things based on my appearance and had the cheek to say things that were sort of true and freak me out massively. And then came what I had been waiting for the whole time....."I don't suppose you could give a sister a fiver could you?" No. I haven't got any money (lie). And with that she let me off. And then I noticed she had a little friend with her who'd been stood in very close proximity to me the whole time. Hoom.

In other news:


Found this on t'internet today. Fairly offensive isn't it? You can actually buy it though. Go on. I dare you. Wear it to your next family gathering.