bored of excitement – the griefjunkie blog 

Dear Rachel

Yeah, Emma Watson, who plays Sabrina the Teenage Witch in the Harry Potter books, went past our old pitch at Camden once. I didn’t recognise her without Bilbo, but fellow t shirt vendor Slack Matt tried optimistically to crack onto her as she walked around the East Yard. Not possessing a cinematic career of his own, I assume he did so as a result of briefly slipping into an impromtu nightmare rendering of Notting Hill. In this version, however, Hugh Grant’s affable bookshop owner character had been transposed into a hugely likeable if somewhat stunted market trader played by someone who – and I don’t know why this is true, but it is – looks like a taxi driver. I have in fact long campaigned for Slack Matt to have a rear view mirror fitted behind his stall, so that he can face away from his customers and talk to them while looking in it.

In the aftermath of being turned down by the Watson, Matt’s splendid indignation was not so much directed at the rebuff as the fact that she had come out wearing tracksuit bottoms and a baggy jumper, instead of, presumably, a cloak and pointy hat with stars on it. I agreed that yeah, you’d think that one of the most eligible women in England would make more of an effort when coming into the East Yard, considering the mouthwatering manbuffet on show, but that in any case the only reason you’d date an eighteen year old would be to get your iPod set up properly.

The East Yard was good for celebrities, from elderly English singer Madonna to yo-yo knickered idiot Fearne Cotton, who bought some Jack Magnets from Martin.  This was quite exciting for Martin, whose idea of raciness had until that point been limited to having the theme tune to Time Team as a ringtone.  Now I’m at Greenwich, there aren’t so many famous people about, but there are a lot of children, which is nice.  One such child, perhaps four years old, wandered over to me while I was setting up last weekend, and sang ‘She’ll Be Coming Round The Mountain’ at me.  It was clearly an interpretive piece, as every word had been substituted with ‘meow’, giving the impression that I was being urgently serenaded by a mad but talented cat.

The performance also included a rendering of the ay ay ippe ippe ay or whatever chorus.  I didn’t really have the heart to cut it short, even though it must’ve gone on for a full minute.  Try meowing ‘She’ll Be Coming Round The Mountain’ to yourself now for sixty seconds, to see how long that actually is.  To complete the scene, you might want to hold aloft an Annie Lennox tribute apron with Sweet Dreams Are Made Of Fish on it as you do so, which is what I was doing for the benefit of Danny and Winkle at the precise moment the singing ambush took place.  Danny at Greenwich is, I suppose, the equivalent of Martin at Camden. Danny is black though, which helps to tell them apart.  He’s a very thoughtful man, and may well have done that on purpose.

Winkle’s real name is Keith, but I call him Winkle as he reminds me of a bloke that used to drink in my pub, whose nickname was Winkle.  Intriguingly, he was also actually called Keith.  However, Greenwich Winkle sells his photography for a living, whereas pub Winkle’s only real special skill was getting his cock out and distracting opponents with it while playing pool.  In this regard, I suppose, he is more or less equivalent to Pikey Dave at Camden, who would drape his penis in your coffee when you weren’t looking, for reasons that I felt were never adequately explained.  Perhaps it was just tired, I dunno, but it must’ve been a tough old blighter, what with all the boiling water and such.  I think only in the field of gynacology would a heterosexual man see as many cocks as I have while going about his lawful business.

I’m assuming that you know who all these people are. If not, perhaps one day I could produce a guide in leaflet form and organise an open topped bus tour.

Twitter: Yep. Still persevering with it, but might ditch it in the New Year. Dunno.

Facebook: Up to 102 members! No wonder the laptop feels heavier.

Photards: Top: Asbestos-cocked East Yard stalwart, Pikey Dave, in a photographic study I like to call Beauty, Unaware.

Middle: Rear of How To Make Tea Like The Kray Twins mug at Greenwich Market.  Also visible is How To Make Tea Like Jack The Ripper.

Bottom: Enigmatic, mysterious, and enigmatic – it’s N19’s answer to Stonehenge.  Perhaps ancient people put them there thousands of years ago.   Perhaps it was the council in the mid 80s.   Some things we are just not meant to know.