qwghlm.co.uk : because all the other domain names were taken

Tonight in the pub with friends, a complete stranger came up to our table and asked if an unused seat by our table was free (or something similar). We said go ahead… and he promptly sat down next to us. Which was creepy enough (the adjoining table was totally free), but at least he was facing away from our conversation. Over the time though it became clear he was listening in on our conversation (which was vaguely erudite, about objectivity v. impartiality v. balance in the media) and soon enough he was interjecting and joining in with his own uninvited views.

At which point what I should have said is:

“I’m sorry, this is an official meeting of the People Who Believe Private Conversations Should Not Be Intruded Upon Club, and we kindly request that you please get the fuck out of our sight, right now.

But I didn’t. My companions seemed keen to talk to him; I rolled my eyes and picked up the nearest newspaper (The Sun, hurrah). I didn’t closely follow the resulting topic, though a pamphlet was brandished and the phrase “political correctness gone mad” wafted across the table at one point. Luckily, he went to get another pint and in his absence we agreed to steer the conversation to football, which he soon grew bored of; he shirked away and after finishing his second drink he left. Which was good; else I’d have had to start telling paedo jokes and see how long it took for him to leave out of disgust.

Still, he wasted enough of the planet’s time in trying to ingratiate himself with our party. So here’s a public service warning – if you’re in a pub in West London and a middle-aged gentleman with a white beard, glasses and paunch plonks himself down in the spare seat next to you, just tell him to fuck off before he wastes any more of your time. I hate being incivil as much as the next man, but there are some occasions when it is thoroughly, thoroughly deserved.