Another week in this great city of London. And another overheard column that is getting to be a rather worrying obsession. I had an email recently, asking if I felt like a snooper and to be honest I don’t. The reason for this is what I hear is always set off by volume. The things I get to hear are always delivered at quite high volume usually right behind me or next to me. I’m just there tapping away on my netbook or phone or scribbling on my paper. And the high volume helps me hear things perfectly. Sometimes I almost feel like I’m part of the conversation. Hence my opening overheard one liner this week. Outside London Bridge station. Worker in high vis vest calling to his friend on the other side of the road “I’m bleeding sick of Chablis today Charlie I’m going to Greggs” Huh?
But this week’s overheard is from the National Portrait Gallery. Two elderly ladies and I’m guessing down from the countryside judging by their identical clothing. Green barbour jacket. Chunky oatmeal looking cardigans. Headscarves with horses and riding equipment on them. Large handbags and one with a serious looking flask of tea. Very sensible brown walking shoes: Lady One “I don’t think it’s the eyes that follow you as much as the noses” Lady Two “Hm I see what you mean. It’s a little unsettling but I’m sure that wasn’t the artists intention though” Lady One “Quite right but Margaret has that picture of her mother on the landing you know the one and it doesn’t do the poor woman any favours” Lady Two “But to be frank poor Margaret has the face of a pit pony don’t you think?” Lady One “Yes and looking at her mother you can see where she gets it from. It’s like her youngest daughter. Such an ugly child. Poor Robert possibly shudders when she sits on his lap” Lady Two “I don’t blame him at all dear. She reminds me of one of those brain damaged people. Those little piggy eyes and that enormous jawline” Lady One “And she smells slightly. Have you noticed? Like a damp badger Robert says. You’d think Margaret and Stephen would notice. But of course the poor dears are exhausted looking after her poor father. His minds completely gone now you know of course?” Lady Two “Yes poor dear. I saw him in the Post office with slippers on and not even wearing a tie. Tragic really. He used to be an accountant in the city I understand” Lady One “Oh I heard he was something in the Fire Service. How curious. Where did you hear about him being an accountant” They both spoke at once “Sylvia” And then they both laughed. Then two Japanese tourists sat in front of me and I couldn’t catch anything else. And I really wanted to hear about Sylvia. But that’s how overheard’s work sometimes.
I don’t know which County Town they came from but it’s probably like that TV village of Midsomer where murders happen on a weekly basis. And just how ugly is Margaret’s daughter? We’ll never know!