Download the audio version of today’s Dollop here

After my encounter with the “homeless” man in Huddersfield, which I told you about in Dollop 181, I was approached by another homeless person in Sheffield, later that same day. I heard him asking people for money before he came to me, and no one seemed to be responding positively. Unlike the man in Huddersfield, this man’s story remained constant, and didn’t change with every new person he met. I was proud of my home town of Sheffield, for sporting a better class of beggar than those of Huddersfield. If I gave the Huddersfield man some money, and he couldn’t even stick to a plausible story about why he wanted the money, then surely I would have to give something to this seemingly more genuine man. So I also gave him a pound. He thanked me and went on his way.

A minute later, I was approached by another man, who told me he was homeless and asked me if I could spare any change. What was going on? Is there a homeless network where fellow homeless people tip others off about good prospective givers. I didn’t even hear this one ask anyone else before me. It was as if he’d just gone straight to me, as if he knew who I was. Perhaps the man at Huddersfield had alerted the homeless community of Sheffield.

“Hello Sheffield, this is John from Huddersfield. I’ve got a tip off for you. There’s a blind man with blonde hair and blue eyes heading in your direction. He’s just got on the train. He should be at the train station in just over an hour. Oh, and a word to the wise: make sure you get your story straight. I nearly botched it. It seems as if his going rate is a pound, although you might get more if you get your story straight first.”

This man also got a pound. What the hell, I thought, I’m a folk singer for goodness sake, I can obviously afford it. He thanked me and we went our separate ways.

A couple of minutes later, I got lost while trying to find the bus stop, and I was stopped by a man who asked me if I needed some help. I told him where I was trying to get to and he offered to walk me there. As we walked we got chatting. I asked him what he was up to today, and he told me that he wasn’t really doing much, as he was currently living on the streets. Damn, I’d fallen into his trap. He’d obviously been tipped off by Huddersfield and possibly also his other homeless friends in Sheffield, and had deliberately offered to help me, knowing that I would surely have to give him money, perhaps counting on the fact that I’d give him even more than a pound if he did something for me in return. Each homeless person I was meeting today was getting progressively more adept. I reached into my bag and pulled out a pound, which I gave to him. He thanked me, and then informed me that he was lost and he wasn’t sure on the way from here. He then walked off, leaving me more lost than I was before he’d come along.

I stood there for a few seconds, trying to decide how I felt about what had just happened. I felt a mix of emotions. I felt sympathy for the man, assuming that he really was homeless. I also felt a bit angry though that he had taken advantage of my situation, seemingly just to guilt trip me into giving him money, which, when given, he buggered off to leave me to fend for myself. My annoyance began to build, usurping my feelings of sympathy and goodwill. I considered the first homeless man, who didn’t seem to really be homeless, with his changing reasons for needing money. My frustration caused me to start doubting the authenticity of the first Sheffield homeless man, and I began to feel even more irked. After all, in a sea of people refusing to give any of these people money, I had now given money to four homeless people, the first of which had lied to me and then not thanked me, and the last of which had led me down some alley somewhere, making me completely lost.

“Are you lost mate? Where are you trying to get to mate?” A man approached me. I told him where I was trying to head, the man took my arm and we began to walk. I thanked him for his help, and then, for want of anything else to say, and thinking that it might do me some good to get what had just happened off my chest, I said, “you’re not homeless are you?” It was a sort of jocular conversation opener. Basically, he would say no, I’d have piqued his curiosity about why I was asking, and it would mean that I could vent my spleen about what had just happened. Except my plan backfired.

“Yes, I am mate. I am.”

Bloody hell, this was getting ridiculous. What was I going to do? I’d asked as a kind of joke in order to facilitate a conversation topic, but now I’d inadvertently put my foot in it. I’d have to give him some money, surely? I began to reach into my bag, but then I stopped. What if this man was part of the homeless network, and had received all the tip-offs from the previous three homeless men, including the last one about the pretending-to-help-the-blind-man-find-the-bus-stop scam? I can’t keep falling for this. If I gave him money, then he would probably just toddle off, tip off another “homeless” man and then it would happen all over again. When would it end? My hand remained poised at my bag while I deliberated on my course of action. I decided that I wouldn’t give him money until he got me to the bus stop, and then, if he got me there, I’d give him some money before getting on the bus and leaving this madness behind. Otherwise, I might never get home, and would end up broke after spending days being approached by homeless men offering assistance, only to disappear as soon as I gave them money. Ironically, all of this would result in me having no money myself, and therefore having to live on the streets and relying on the money making tactics that I’d picked up from all the homeless men I’d met over the last few days, except I’d be at a distinct disadvantage, as not being able to see, I’d be a bit useless helping blind people find their way to bus stops.

I shuddered at the thought of what would surely happen if I didn’t take control. I’d wait until we got to the bus stop before I gave him any money. Yes, the decision had been made. Except, I realised that as soon as he’d said that he was homeless, I immediately halted my walk, put my hand in my bag, and we were both now standing there, while I had my hand in my bag, clearly deliberating about whether to give him money or not. It would be too awkward to pull my hand out of my bag and not give him anything now. Damn. I pulled out a pound and gave it to him. But the man refused it.

“No no, it’s fine mate, you’ve already given me a quid mate. I saw you ten minutes ago.”

It was the first man who asked me for money at the train station. I apologised for not realising it was him. He said that he thought it was a bit weird when I said, “you’re not homeless are you?” He’d assumed that I had decided for some reason to challenge him about his homelessness, when in fact I’d had no idea it was the same person. I felt as if I really needed to explain why I’d asked him whether he was homeless, and so I told him about the man who’d offered to help me get to the bus stop, but then, as soon as I gave him money, toddled off. We then had a bit of a laugh about our misunderstanding, he took hold of my arm again, and we began to walk.

But then a man jogged up to us. “Sorry mate, that took longer than I thought, but I’ve got directions from someone and I know where to go now.”

It was the man from earlier. It turned out he hadn’t just buggered off, but he’d gone to ask someone for directions. Suddenly everything felt good again, and I began to feel a restored sense of faith in humanity.

I introduced the two men to each other and the three of us walked together to the bus stop, chatting. The two men seemed to be getting on really well, and as they chatted away to each other, I began to daydream about them becoming best of friends, and perhaps they would help each other to get off the streets, maybe moving into a flat together. Maybe they would be each other’s best men, and godfathers to their respective children …

I realised just how all over the place my emotions were today. One minute I was really angry at the homeless people I’d met, thinking that they’d been duplicitous, and now I was getting all excited about the prospect of a fairytale scenario involving these two homeless men in which they both live happily ever after. I was so overcome with emotion tht I gave the pair a twenty pound note. They accepted it, then shouted “so long sucker,” and walked away laughing, leaving me even more lost than before. No, don’t worry, that last bit didn’t happen. They got me to the bus stop, and I got the bus home, feeling as if I’d learnt a valuable life lesson. I hope that you have also learnt a thing or two in this blog, even if that thing you’ve learnt is simply never to read another very lengthy badly written blog post by David Eagle ever again.

Download the audio version here

I got an email today from the PR and marketing person at Towersey Festival, which we are playing on Monday 29th August. The email explained that she is putting together a festival programme and thought that it would be fun to include some “quirky bits from the performers.” Well, I thought that this was rather forward and a bit much. I don’t know how the other performers feel about this, but I’m not going to have my “quirky bits” included in their programme, not unless they paid me good money, and not unless I could vet the photo before it went in. But when I emailed them back, they explained that by “quirky bits,” they were simply meaning something along the lines of a joke, a funny story, a favourite recipe or a poem. To be honest, I was a tad disappointed; I mean, I could have done with the money.

Now, the problem is, as you’ll know if you’re a regular Dollop reader, I’m not really what you’d describe as a particularly “quirky” person; I’m normally pretty straight-laced. But, I’ve had a little think, and I’ve come up with something.

So, here’s a joke, revolving around a conversation between two fonts, as in computer fonts, rather than church fonts. Sorry if you saw the word ‘fonts,’ and then got all excited at the prospect of a joke about holy water and baptism, only to have your hopes dashed when you realised it’s going to be a joke about computer fonts – “oh no, not another bloody joke about computer fonts; I’ll have probably already heard it.” Well, you won’t have heard this one, because I made it all up by myself, so continue reading.

Now, before we get this joke under way, in order to help you read this joke properly, I will put certain words in block capitals. This is an indication for you to emphasise those words, perhaps pausing a little before delivering it. This will help the joke flow better and have more coherence. I’m sure you’ll agree that the best jokes are the ones where the reader is given a set of instructions beforehand about how to best enjoy the joke. I think Christmas crackers would be much improved if they gave instructions to the joke’s deliverer about how to best deliver the joke.

OK, so now here’s the joke. This is a conversation between two fonts.

“Excuse me Arial, er, if I may be so BOLD? I’m a bit nervous about this, er … hang on … let me calm down, I need to CENTRE myself. OK … so, Arial. I find you very ATTRACTIVE. Would you like to go on a date with me? Maybe have a night at the Space Bar?”

“Oh, er, well, I’m sorry. I mean, I think you’re a great CHARACTER …”

“No, it’s OK, you don’t have to JUSTIFY yourself Arial.”

“no, but really, I think you’re a great CHARACTER, it’s just, you’re not really my TYPE.”

“Fair enough, but I had to ASCII.”

(ASCII – to be pronounced “asky – is a type of computer code which is essentially the building blocks of font creation and character encoding. Ideally, I wouldn’t have had to explain that, as it kind of tempers the immediacy of your reaction, and somewhat dilutes the hilarity of the joke. Ideally you’d have done your research beforehand. Maybe I should have given you some pre-joke reading material, so that you could swat up before reading and then get the most from this joke. Oh well, never mind. I mean, there’s been plenty of hilarity so far anyway, hasn’t there? OK, let’s get back to this joke.)

“I hoped that you might be my Ms WRITE.”

(I suppose you could argue that I didn’t really need to change the word ‘right’ to ‘WRITE,’ as it would have worked with the word ‘right’ as in right aligned, but I think ‘write’ helps your brain to come to the punchline quicker with the word ‘write’ as opposed to ‘right’. As you can tell, a lot of thought has gone into this. Hilarious jokes like this take time and effort to master. This took me at least twenty minutes.)

“What? You’re Ms WRITE? Me?! Really?! well I don’t want to be rude, but I find that idea rather COMIC.” (as in Comic Sans.)

“Oh Arial! I’d do anything for you. I’d even take a BULLET for you, Arial! Life without you would be Helvetica.”

(ideally, you would have left a pause between “hel,” and “vetica.” Bare that in mind if you ever retell this joke to someone, which I’m sure you will, because it’s obviously amazingly funny, and you’re friends will clearly be impressed at your joke telling skills. Anyway, we digress. Back to the joke.)

“Oh Arial, life without you would be HEL … VETICA!”

(You see, it works much better with the pause, doesn’t it?)

)Please Arial, don’t leave me Hei and dry.”

(Hei is an East Asian Gothic typeface.)

“For goodness sake, look, I’m not interested! Full stop! How many TIMES?” (As in New Roman.)

So there you go, I hope that you enjoyed that joke. Obviously the main thing to bare in mind is, if you deliver the joke to friends, make sure you get the emphasis, the pauses and, the pace and meter right. Remember, the secret of comedy is timing. If your friends don’t laugh, then it’s not the fault of the joke, but you’re fault for not understanding how to tell the joke properly. In fact, maybe it’s best if you leave it to a professional. You can always book me for your party, although, be warned that I don’t just do jokes about computer fonts, so if you were hoping for a solid ninety minutes of font jokes then I’m not your man; I could only do about half an hour of font jokes.

So that’s what I’ve emailed her for the programme. I’m a bit worried that it’s not quite quirky enough for her, but I did my best. I also sent her a photo of my genitals and an invoice, just in case she changes her mind

Come with me on a walk through rural Sheffield, where I come facetoface with a punning mugger.

Download the audio adventure here

Download the audio version here

There might have been some of you worried that, given my failure to upload Dollop 184 until 11am the following day, I might abandon this challenge. However, I am not going to do a David Cameron, Boris Johnson, Nigel Farage, 80 % of labour MPs, Chris Evans and the food store Netto. Unlike they, I will not be quitting/resigning/leaving, so fear not.

OK, I’ll be honest, I was thinking about leaving the country, in order to focus my efforts on the Belgium comedy market, after I observed how much they loved my kettle material, but then I realised that with all this turmoil and upheaval going on, I have a duty to continue staying in Britain and Dolloping, lest this country be thrown into complete disarray and chaos. So I hope you appreciate what I’m doing for you; I am abandoning fame and fortune in Belgium in order to help Britain from sinking any further into the mire.

As well as my kettle material, the Belgian audience also responded well to my EU jokes, including my declaration that we weren’t accepting song requests, because we don’t have to take orders from Belgium any more. I suppose there was a chance that the audience might have taken it the wrong way, and we could have been booed and hissed off the stage, thus putting an end to our Belgium prospects, although, in fairness I’m sure I could have easily won them back with my kettle stuff; how could they stay mad at me once I’d wowed them with my kettles in the airport routine?

I think the next time we go to a country that speaks a different language, I will incorporate the idea of translating a funny story/anecdote into their native language and attempting to deliver it on stage. There is a chance that the comedy might transcend the poor Google translation and my terrible pronunciation, but even if it doesn’t, I think people will find the failed attempt pretty funny, so either way it should go down well. If you have a favourite Dollop that you think I should try, then feel free to let me know. I know naturally your first choice would be one of my kettle blogs, but I’m saving those for my worldwide kettle-based standup tour.

Prospective names for the tour: David Eagle’s Cometea Road Show, or Fancy A Brew-haha? I suppose these titles, as hilarious as they may be, are unlikely to translate into other languages; having said that, the word Brouhaha is a French one, so people in other countries might get the pun. I suppose I could always explain the joke in brackets, calling the show something like: “Fancy A Brew-haha, as in a play on the word brouhaha, which is a funny name for this show because “fancy a brew?” is something that people say when they’re asking someone if they want a cup of tea, and this show is all about kettles, hence the first element of the pun, but then also there’s the ‘haha’ bit, which is because this is a comedy show and ‘haha’ is the sound people make when they laugh, hence the second element of the pun, so that’s actually quite clever and funny isn’t it?”

I accept that this is quite a long title, and I probably won’t get all that printed on the souvenir mugs that I’ll be selling after the show, as it would cost me a fortune, but we could stick that on the poster, just to make sure people definitely get the joke. I know that some of you might be thinking that if I have to explain the joke in that much detail then it might dilute the impact of the joke quite a bit. Normally I’d agree with you on that front, but in this case, I think the joke is strong enough to still be hilarious in spite of that lengthy and detailed explanation of what the joke actually means.

OK, well I was intending to tell you some stories about our trip to Belgium, but then I got sidelined about kettles again, which let’s face it, is the main reason you read these things, so you’re not complaining. Tomorrow I’ll get around to telling you more about Belgium, and I still have to tell you my other homeless people story that I meant to tell you last week. With all this quality material in the offing, there’s no way I’ll be quitting. I am like Jeremy Corbyn: you can all dessert me, but I’ll still be here. Granted, Jeremy Corbyn is leading one of the country’s major political parties, campaigning for a fairer more equal Britain, whereas I am just blabbering on about my kettle to a few people online, but does that make my role any less credible or less important? Exactly. So fear not, I am not quitting.

Download audio version here

Belgium beer is strong. So strong in fact that it managed to thwart this daily blogging challenge. I’ve managed to publish a blog everyday for the last 183 days, but yesterday’s Dollop wasn’t published until 11am today. I only had the equivalent of two or three pints – the Belgium beer is served in small glasses – but its alcoholic content is so high that it’s similar to having about ten pints.

When I returned home last night, my plan was to quickly edit and upload the Dollop, however, the Belgium beer put pains to that idea. Within five minutes of turning on my laptop, I was a sleep. When I woke up, I still had my headphones on, and the laptop was perched on top of my stomach. At first when I woke up, I didn’t realise I’d actually been asleep. I immediately just continued editing. But then, within a minute, I was back asleep again. A few hours later I half woke up, and began to edit in my semi-sleep state. But then, after a couple of minutes my laptop turned itself off.

The battery had ran out, and I didn’t have a European plug adapter with me. At this point I knew that it was going to be late morning by the time I got the Dollop uploaded, as I was certain that the others wouldn’t wake up until late, and I would have to wait until they woke in order to borrow a European plug adapter. Ironically, even though I could no longer edit, I lay awake for the next six hours, unable to get to sleep. Eventually, the others woke up and I got a plug adapter, but they had slept in, meaning that we only had half an hour before we had to leave. I therefore didn’t have time to do much in the way of editing or to listen to the recording before I uploaded it. I would just have to hope that I’d done a reasonable amount of editing in my catatonic state. I finally managed to listen to the Dollop back a few minutes ago, and it seems as if, unsurprisingly, my addled state didn’t lend itself well to audio editing. So apologies to those of you who listened to yesterday’s Dollop; it was much longer than I intended it to be. When I return home tonight, I shall edit it properly, without the influence of Belgium beer.

I think though, what clearly came across in yesterday’s Dollop, in spite of the dodgy drunken editing,
is that the hilarity of my kettle-based observational comedy is still retained, even when poorly translated with Google from English to Dutch and then very badly read out by someone who doesn’t speak the language. That is how brilliant my kettle-based observational comedy skills are. Once I’ve edited the Dollop properly, I intend to send the recording to some international comedy agents, as I think they’ll be chomping at the bit to book me a worldwide tour, doing a ninety minutes standup show exclusively about kettles. I think you’ll all agree that the subject of kettles has been the standout highlight of these Dollops.

Even though yesterday’s Dollop wasn’t posted until today, the challenge is still in tact in so much as I’ve still written or recorded a new blog post everyday for the last 184 days, so don’t worry, yesterday’s blip will not result in me abandoning this project. Plenty more kettle-based observations still to come this year I’m sure. Tomorrow, I will tell you about my Belgium exploits this weekend. Obviously it won’t be quite as exciting or as hilarious as my kettle material, but I think you’ll enjoy it nonetheless.

Today is an audio only Dollop from Belgium.

Download it here

Download audio version here

I am writing today’s Dollop on a plane heading to Brussels. Just as you thought this week couldn’t get any weirder, I’ve been chosen to be the person who hands over article 50. No, obviously I’m being hilarious there; we’re actually playing a festival in Belgium this weekend. We’ve already had a few requests from some of the Belgian audience, but we won’t be doing any of them, as we don’t have to take orders from Brussels any more. And we’ll be doing all our Hartlepool songs, just to piss them off even more. I’ve also written a song comprising words from Farage’s speeches. Oh, it’s going to be a right laugh.

At the airport, an announcement came over the PA telling us to have all large electronic items ready for inspection. She then gave a few examples of things that this applied to, including laptops, notebooks, tablets, mobile phones. But then right at the end, she said, “and kettles.” Kettles? Why specifically kettles?

How many people are coming to airports and bringing their kettle with them? And it didn’t sound like she was making a bit of a joke. The announcement was very serious sounding, and it was one of those automated voices, rather than a live announcement, meaning that someone had to have written this list down and given it to someone to read, knowing that it would be repeated throughout the airport time and time again. I’d have thought that when the person was writing the list out for the voice over lady, they might have written the word ‘kettles,’ and then thought, “hang on, kettles? Is that really necessary. I mean, this voice over woman is going to be paid by the word. Is ‘kettles’ really necessary?” Did they write down a list of loads of other domestic appliances, such as toasters, microwaves, blenders, bread makers, and then think: “hmm, this list is going on a bit now. By the time this announcement has finished playing out, most people who heard the start of it won’t be in the airport any more; they’ll have got off the plane and arrived at their destination. Hmm, I think I should probably whittle this list down a bit. OK, I’ll get rid of a load, but obviously I’m keeping kettles.”

I think the inclusion of kettles on the list serves to add more confusion than clarity. I’ll hazard a guess that the vast majority of people going through an airport will not be bringing a kettle with them. Have any of you reading this (hello by the way, hope you’re enjoying this, sorry if it’s a bit rubbish, I’m finding it hard to concentrate as I’ve got Michael and Sean chuntering in my ears). But, have any of you reading this ever brought a kettle through an airport? And if so, why? Do you not trust foreign kettles? Are you a kettle xenophobe?

But I would argue that all the mention of kettles does is add unnecessary confusion, because if there are people with toasters, microwaves or blenders, surely they will now just assume that they are absolutely fine to keep those items in their luggage and not check them in separately, thus causing extra hold ups. Surely by signalling out kettles above all other domestic appliances, then you are tacitly intimating that kettles are the exception to the rule, and that all other domestic appliances are fine.

And what’s the big worry with kettles? Not being a terrorist and not wanting to cause harm to other people, I’ve never really thought about the kind of evil that could be exacted with a kettle. I’d have assumed though that a toaster or a blender or a microwave could hold a similar potential as a weapon? If there are any terrorists reading this then feel free to leave a comment. Don’t worry, there is an option to leave a comment anonymously.

Maybe the airport staff knew that I was in the airport, and made the kettle announcement as a sort of tribute to me, given that I’ve already written a few blogs about kettles in these Dollops so far. Either way, it’s nice to finally read another blog about kettles isn’t it?

Let’s just hope that there isn’t a kettle-based terrorist attack in the next few days, otherwise I’m going to feel pretty bad about this Dollop. If there are any terrorists reading this, then please avoid any kettle-based atrocities. If you’ve enjoyed these Dollops then it’s the least you can do to say thanks. Maybe use a toaster or a blender instead, thus proving my point. Cheers.

And so, in a change to our advertised programming, it’s time for the tenth and possibly final part of our reel-to-reel tape based mystery. If you haven’t caught up with the previous nine parts yet, then I’d recommend you listen to those before listening to this one, otherwise it won’t really make much sense. I’ll put links to the previous nine parts below.

Download part 10 here

Here are all the links to the previous nine episodes.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

http://media.blubrry.com/dollop/davideagle.co.uk/wp-admin/dollops/dollop17Part 9

Download audio version here

I don’t intend to spend today’s Dollop on another EU-based rant, but I am constantly astounded by Nigel Farages lack of tact. In his victory speech on Friday, he trumpeted that Brexit had been won without a single bullet being fired, failing to acknowledge the fact that a Remain campaigner was shot by a man who claimed his name was “death to traitors, freedom for Britain.” And yesterday, Farage addressed the European Parliament saying, “I would like to see a grown-up and sensible attitude to how we negotiate a different relationship,” before immediately adding, “Now I know virtually none of you have ever done a proper job in your lives. Or worked in business or worked in trade or indeed ever created a job. But listen. Just listen.” He seems to be completely unaware of the irony and the contradiction behind those two statements. If Farage gets tired of “politics,” he could work in the trails department at BBC 5 Live. He’s got the requisite skills: being able to lace everything with irony and contradiction. Failing that, a marriage guidance councillor maybe.

On Monday, I was waiting for someone at Huddersfield train station. A little way off, there was a man shouting at someone, “help a homeless man, brother.” A minute later he’d got a bit closer to where I was standing, and was asking someone else if he could have 30 or 40 pence to get some food. Everyone he spoke to either ignored him or apologised and walked off. Then he approached me and began to speak. I felt bad about just ignoring him, plus the words of that Phil Collins song were going around my head. You know the one: “I can feel it coming in the air tonight, oh Lord, And I’ve been waiting for this moment for all my life, Oh Lord, Can you feel it coming in the air tonight?” Haha, you see what I did there. You assumed that I’d be referring to Phil Collin’s song about homelessness, Another Day In paradise, didn’t you? But I confounded your expectations by choosing a different Phil Collins song, and thus, hilarity was the result. Pick yourself up off the floor, and we’ll continue this anecdote.

“Excuse me,” said the man. Good start, I thought. I appreciate a beggar with good manners. He was doing well, and if he played his cards right, he might well be coming away from this conversation with 30, or even, 40 pence.

“Do you have 30 or 40 pence that you could spare mate?”

I’m not sure why he was incorporating such specificity into his begging. I might have been about to present him with 50 pence, if he hadn’t have been so rash as to underplay his potential bounty. I’ve heard a few homeless people use this approach of recent. In the past, it always used to be people asking if you could spare any change, but now there’s more specificity with the begging. Perhaps this has some psychological grounding, that people are more likely to give you money if you offer a suggested donation, rather than just asking for some change. But where’s this tip come from? Is there a manual for homeless people, full of handy hints about effective begging.

“Tip number one: always approach from the left. We are neurologically wired to respond more positively to people if you approach them from their left, according to a recent Harvard University study …”

Unfortunately, this particular man presumably hadn’t yet fully read the manual, as surely his next line contravened one of its key tenets.

“Do you have 30 or 40 pence to spare mate? I’ve left my wallet at home, and I need to get the bus home.”

Presumably, he hadn’t realised I’d overheard his first two requests for money, in which he said that he was homeless and wanted to get something to eat. I felt a bit annoyed. I know I might have been making light of homelessness a little in the last bit, but in reality I was sorry for his situation and ready to hand him the money. But now I wasn’t sure. He’d said too much, and was clearly lying about his situation.

“I thought you were homeless?” I replied.

“What?” The man seemed a bit taken aback by my challenge.

“You said to the people over there that you were homeless.”

“Did I?” said the man, before adding, “oh yeah, well I am.”

“But you just said you needed the money to get the bus home?”

The man didn’t respond, but just stood there, seemingly surprised by my challenge.

“And I thought you wanted the money for food?”

“er, yeah.” He was sounding rather unsure and unconvincing.

Then he said, “well, I’ve got something sweet to eat, but I haven’t got anything savoury to have before hand.”

I’m not sure how he thought this explained the disparity of his narrative, unless his tactic was to distract me from that line of thinking by saying something unexpected. Now, I know I might be coming across a bit obnoxious here. Obviously I’m sympathetic of people who are homeless. I know it’s only a very small contribution, but I have a monthly donation set up to Shelter. I’m not saying that this gives me the right to make light of homelessness, although, to be honest, that’s the only reason I give to charities, so that I can take the piss out of the people it represents. I mean, surely that’s how it works. So long as I’m giving them money, surely I am allowed to piss-take a bit? That’s why I’m having a go at Nigel Farage so much, because in actuality I’m shelling out loads of money a month to support UKIP.

Anyway, I was shocked by the “homeless” man’s line about only having something sweet, and not having anything savoury to eat first. I don’t want to use the line “beggars can’t be choosers,” but, you know … Plus, a minute ago he was trying to get home because he’d left his wallet in his house, and now that I’d rumbled his wallet-bus story and reminded him that he was menat to be spending the money on food, he’d manufactured a line about needing to buy something savoury to accompony his sweet. Clearly this guy hadn’t read the manual. Surely the rule is that if you’re begging for money for food, you get the savoury first, and then, if it’s a good day of begging, you buy yourself dessert as a reward for a good day’s work? I wasn’t at all convinced that this man was being truthful with me. There was something in his demeanour, and his story just wasn’t adding up.

“OK,” I said, in a friendly voice, “let me buy you something savoury.”

“What? No, it’s all right mate, 30 or 40 pence will be fine.”

I tried to reason with him, explaining that 30 or 40 pence wasn’t going to get him a meal, and I was happy to buy him something substantial to eat. But he just kept saying that 30 or 40 pence would be fine. I tried highlighting that 30 or 40 pence wasn’t going to be enough for his bus fair, and that I’ve been standing on the street now for five minutes, and so far, no one has given him any money. But he just kept saying that all he needed was 30 or 40 pence.

More doubt crept into my mind, but now it wasn’t doubt about this man’s credentials as a beggar, but at whether I was doing the right thing by challenging him. Everyone he’d asked for 30 or 40 pence had refused. Presumably if he was standing on the street asking for money, then he must need it in some way. Yes, his story might keep changing and he might be lying about being homeless, but surely you wouldn’t stand on the street asking for 30 or 40 pence and being continually knocked back, unless you really needed that money for something. And who was I to play judge and jury over this man?

So, feeling guilty for contesting his authenticity, I gave him a pound, and I didn’t even ask for sixty pence change. And then I apologised for challenging him, and wished him a good day. He muttered a thanks and walked off. A few seconds later, he was asking someone else for money.

“Excuse me mate. I’ve left my wallet at home, and I need to get the bus …”

Later that day, back in Sheffield, I had a couple more encounters with some homeless people, but that will have to wait until tomorrow. Hopefully you’ll join me, unless you think that this anecdote has shown me to be an obnoxious prick. In my defence, I was the only person, in the ten minutes I was standing there, who gave him any money. I await your verdict on my behaviour.

Download the audio version of today’s Dollop here

Today was the first day since Friday that I haven’t been obsessively checking the Guardian and Twitter, trying to compute what has happened and what might happen. But today I’ve had a productive day, haven’t looked at the news or Twitter much at all, and so in my own personal world, things returned to normal; and by normal I mean making dubstep remixes of traditional folk songs. I appreciate that this may not seem particularly normal to most people.

You can hear the fruits of my labour at the very first Young’uns In The Mix, on Saturday 20th August, at the Folk East festival in Suffolk. I’ll also put it on The Young’uns Podcast. Talking of which, I really need to get the first Young’uns podcast of the year released very soon. I said that the new series would be coming in April, but I’ve been so busy that it hasn’t happened. But, you know, it’s not as if it was a promise. I didn’t get a massive poster and emblazon the news all over The Young’uns van, and then pretend I didn’t; although, if I was pretending I didn’t, then I suppose I’d say that I didn’t, hence the pretending element, but, I didn’t, stop trying to trip me up.

Yes, this is what I mean when I say that things have returned to normal: having pretend arguments with myself for my daily blog. Completely normal. Hmm, I think Farage was right about me; I’m not one of the ordinary people. To be honest, I’m not really that decent either. You don’t want to know what I’m doing while I’m writing this; it’s a wonder I can still use the keyboard. Although maybe I should stop. I might give myself an injury, and I wouldn’t want to put unnecessary strain on the NHS. Give it a few months and I’ll be fine doing highly indecent and undisclosed, and potentially danger-inducing stunts, without worrying about putting a strain on our health service. But I appreciate it’s going to take at least a couple of months before all the foreigners leave and the money starts rolling into the hospitals. Then it’ll be amazing. We’ll all be deliberately getting injured just for fun, and also to take advantage of the luxury hospital services. Hopefully they won’t serve caviar for every meal. I mean, it’s nice, but I wouldn’t want it everyday. A bit of satire for you there my friends.

It’s not what you’d describe as “biting satire,” but that’s because I’m aware of the health risks of satire bites, and I think it would be irresponsible of me to give you any, in case it results in you needing to go to Accident and Emergency, thus putting unnecessary strain on our NHS. But in a couple of months when the foreigners leave and the money comes rolling in, etc etc.

Yesterday I watched the England match with Ben and Elsa. It was an odd atmosphere, and we all admitted to each other that we weren’t really that bothered about England winning the match. The political events of recent days, and people’s attitudes to none-English people had made us rather disillusioned with the country. Plus, Elsa is French. Obviously she’ll be leaving soon anyway, in order to free up NHS resources. Am I right Hartlepool? Looking at my Twitter timeline, it seemed as if we weren’t the only people feeling this way, kind of wanting us to lose. As the game went on, and the Iceland goals came in, we started rooting more and more for Iceland. I suppose I wanted it to be a slap in the face to all those idiots I’d heard on the radio and TV, saying things like, “we’ve got England back for the English people,” “it’s time to stand on our own two feet and show the world what we’re made of,” and “now we can make Britain great again,” Obviously, this slap in the face would be a figurative slap in the face. As much as I’d like to give them a literal slap in the face, I wouldn’t want to cause any injuries that might put unnecessary strain on the NHS. Maybe in a couple of months when all the foreigners have left and the money starts rolling into the hospitals. Although, I wouldn’t want to give the stupid, patriotic pricks the joy of being able to live it up in the luxurious hospitals, being waited on hand and foot by their own personal butler.

Again, checking my twitter timeline indicated that others were also getting a weird pleasure from our apparently great nation being beaten by a country with a population the size of Wakefield. Obviously, the truth is that we let Iceland win, to thank them for being the first country to come forward after our Brexit, and offer us a trade deal. England clearly thought that we should be magnanimous and show our appreciation by deliberately playing shit and letting them win. Because, as Farage said, we are decent people.

But anyway, it’s not the winning, it’s the taking part that counts; although, clearly this country has chosen neither to win or take part. We are out. Out of the EU and out of the Euros. Still, who needs the Euros when we’ve got something a lot more interesting happening on our TVs right now, as this parliamentary debacle rolls on. Get a few of your mates round, stick on the news channel, maybe play a drinking game to spice things up a bit: take a drink every time a labour politician resigns, or every time someone reneges on a key pledge of the campaign, or every time someone says there isn’t a plan. Although, actually, maybe best stay off the drink for the time being. You wouldn’t want to put unnecessary strain on the NHS due to alcoholic related injuries or illness. But in a couple of months, once all the foreigners have left and the money comes rolling into the hospitals, then you can drink as much as you want. In fact, we’ll have so much money that they’ll probably serve free booze in the hospital, along with the caviar. A bit of slightly nipping satire for you there my friends.