The 27th half wit of the day approached, smiling,
" can't believe how hot it is, can you. It's 73 degrees " he said before continuing,
" It's an Indian summer, that's what it's called at this time of the year when it gets warm again, an Indian summer " he smiled, chuffed at this jewel of information.
I smiled back. " why? "
"Huh" he grunted, perplexed at the question.
" why is it called an Indian summer, and how many days must this weather hold for it to be considered thus ? "
"Bus ? My grandad drives a bus, a big red f****r in London, a double decker. He takes all of the foreigners sight seeing, you know, Buckingham Palace, Downing Street, Houses of Parliament, Hard Rock Cafe. He said it's mainly Japs these days, with a few chinks, but hardly any darkies or Arabs. He reckons it's all to do with that Al Keeda fella. You know, him that goes around choppin' people's heads off and blowing things up. Now, I ain't being funny but you would've thought they might have nicked him by now, I mean, he must have to catch a plane to get round all of the places he gets up to no good in, so you would've thought they might be keeping an eye out at passport control. Can't be that many men called Al Keeda can there. "
As I went to reply, he set off chopsing again.
" Mind you, there's plenty of Browns, Smiths, Greens over here, perhaps Keeda is a popular surname where all of them terrorists come from, might be thousands of the little fuckers. Yep, that must be it, can't be any other explanation can there, makes sense when you think about it. Anyway, can't stand chatting all day, got a meeting to attend, annual Chief of Police seminar.
You take care".
and with that he was gone.