Well goodness gracious blimeys and all that, that didn't take long. A mere three days, I think, after writing about the somewhat unlikely occurrence that I would see Richard Herring on the street and blog about it, here I am doing that very gosh-darned thing. On a normal walk home after my bland and boring day, he looms out of the night like only a Yorkshire comedian with a really rather impressive amount of hair can. And seeing as I am currently working my way through the backlog of the Collings and Herrin podcasts, as I saw him, he was all talking in my head and stuff! It was most unnerving.
I mean, come on, what are the odds? Pretty slim, I'd wager. There's a lot of people in Shepherds Bush, and it's entirely possible that most of them aren't Richard Herring, but there he was, just after I'd mentioned seeing him, on the same road, at the same time, while I was listening to him talk about Heather Mills getting her divorce settlement entirely in coins which she could hide in her false leg. Of course, I didn't say anything. What could I say? "Hi, I'm listening to you right now!" What if he didn't immediately jump to the conclusion that I meant his podcast, and instead thought I had some kind of strange bat-like super hearing, and was gaining a perverse pleasure listening to the blood sloshing through his ventricles? That might have really freaked him out, and by the time he'd worked out what I really meant, I probably would have punched him in the face through sheer panic and embarrassment. That's just not a nice conclusion for any of us. So I missed my chance to create the infinite feedback loop of bloggery I had previously posited.
Sigh. My life seems to be a series of missed chances of late. I have a niggly, horrible feeling I'm yearning for something or other, and I really hope it turns out to be peanut butter, cos I've just bought a really big jar of it and that would be the end of that. Ah, but can peanut butter put a stop to chronic self-regarding nonsense?
Readers (HA), let's hope not!