"Will you still love me when I'm bald?"
"Of course. I don't love you for your hair."
"And will you still love me when I put on weight?"
"Even more than now as there will be more of you!"
"And will you still love me when I'm a giant slug who walks around in a t-shirt and no trousers in a blizzard?"
"Absolutely!"
And she did.
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"I see you're interested in my pickled onions."
"I wasn't even looking at them! How dare you! Anyway, what do you expect when you're sitting like that? Oh! You mean the ones in the jar? Oh! Ha ha! You cheeky monkey!"
"Not quite, but… we've got some eggs left and we're down to the last few jars of lemon curd and preserves. Anything take your fancy? Other than my pickled onions, of course."
"Hee hee! You are a one! No, no, what I'm really looking for is fresh cantaloupe."
"Melons?"
"They're tucked beneath my jacket where you can't see them! See! Two can play at that game! But yes, cantaloupe melons. I'm making a cake for my niece and she does love cantaloupe melons on top."
"That's… quite bizarre. No, sorry, no melons, cantaloupe or otherwise. Very difficult to get hold of cantaloupe melons when you're a dog."
"On account of the U.N. embargo? Is that still going?"
"Afraid so. One little bloody melon uprising against humans and nobody seems able to forget."
"But you've got lemon curd."
"Well, I've got some friends who are cats. I shouldn't really have it out on the stall – no, not that you saucy minx! – but I haven't been bothered yet."
"Oh, that's a shame. Oh well, best be off."
"Okay, have a good day."
"I will. You too."
"I haven't always been a dog, you know."
"What's that?"
"I said: I haven't always been a dog."
"Really?"
"Really. I used to be a puppy!"
"Oh! You!"
"That's a dog market stallholder joke! You take that with you for free, okay. Good luck with your melons."
"Thank you! And I hope someone deserving gets their hands on your pickled onions too."
#StreetPhotography #StreetPics #MonochromeWorld 
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There comes a point in every bicyclist's life when he, she, or it discovers the singular joy that is keeping the bike as still as possible, standing on the pedals, and trying to keep balanced whilst wind, the dizzying force of the Earth's rotation, or butterflies alighting on shoulders do their utmost to assist gravity in sending the vehicle's owner crashing to the ground.
That point in life is usually around the age of seven or eight and it forms part of that area of growing up that involves trying to beat friends and impress people of the opposite or same or no sex.
Occasionally, though – just occasionally – this joy of balancing comes late in life to a cyclist. But just because it happens at an older age those desires to outdo friends or colleagues or show off aren't necessarily suppressed by wisdom. It happened today to this man and tomorrow it might happen to you.
The women were not impressed.
The bus driver that swerved to avoid him was also not impressed.
A butterfly alighted on his shoulder and sent him sprawling.
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Not to be confused with superheroes from American publications, the District of Chichester has its own motley collection of do-gooders battling the scourge of the south coast on a daily basis, and yesterday was try out day.
Most attendees didn't make the cut, of course, but the session did end well for a successful trio so I'd like to introduce the world to – and warn any potential supervillains about – Chichester's newest defenders of truth, liberty, and the West Sussex way of life:
Cumulus – With a cloud on his head and the ability to control water vapour, Cumulus is the man you need when a kettle is in danger of boiling over. Or if you're locked in a sauna.
Boa Constrictor – Scaly skin (the result of a refusal to help prop up the cosmetics industry and buy moisturiser) and unblinking eyes (maybe; difficult to tell really inside that ridiculous outfit) but it's this mystery person's swaying dance with a feather boa that will dazzle and confuse (usually sexually) the criminal underclass.
Gypsy Rose Vee – The V stands for vengeance and her weapons of choice are knockout-perfumed roses. The "gypsy" part comes from her Romany heritage and also explains why she's currently the target of a hate campaign from the Daily Mail.
#MonochromeWorld #StreetPhotography 
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"I'm sorry, Gabrielle, I really am. I… I just can't do this anymore."
"On Valentine's day? Please tell me this is a horrible joke Michael!"
"I can't. I wish I could but…"
"Is it me? Is it me being pushy?"
"It's not that, no."
"Just because I'm wearing a wedding dress… it's a joke, it doesn't mean anything. It doesn't have to be like this!"
"I said it's not that. Can't we just leave it at that? Part ways as, well, maybe not friends, but just, you know, part?"
"Is it because I'm a mannequin? You said it didn't matter!"
"It doesn't! And it's not that. I told you I had a crush on Kim Cattrall in the movie Mannequin. You were – you are my Kim Cattrall."
"Well then, what? You owe me that! Is it because I don't have a head?"
"No! I… okay… the head thing is… yes! I'm sorry! I really, really tried to overlook it but…"
"I thought you were better than that Michael. I thought that looks – or, in my case, a distinct lack of them – weren't important to you."
"They aren't! I swear!"
"You're not making any sense! Why are you doing this to me?"
"I'm so, so sorry Gabrielle. I'm so sorry. It's your… voice! It comes from, well, between your legs!"
"Where else is it supposed to come from? I've got no head! No. Head. Remember?"
"I remember Gaby. I just… I have to go now. I can't do this."
"Go! You've broken my heart Michael! I've still got one of those! Go on, go! And you remember this: I overlooked your constant hopping! So go! Hop away you hopping freak!"
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Condensation-formingly warm inside.
Outside – which is where I was as you can possibly tell – it was colder than a witch's tit.
My gloves: they do nothing to keep the feeling in the tips of my fingers!
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"Look deep into my eyes… Feel yourself getting… Are you looking up my nostrils?"
"I'm very sorry; it's just that you're quite tall."
"Perhaps you're quite short! Ever think of that?"
"I have done on many occasions, thank you. Are you here to hypnotise me or insult me?"
"You're right, I'm sorry. I'm new to street hypnotism and a little nervous and, yes, that's no excuse for rudeness. Sorry. Again."
"That's okay. Why don't you have another go?"
"Thank you. Right… Look deep into my eyes…"
"I am looking deep into your eyes."
"Please… don't repeat what I'm saying."
"Is that one of those hypnotic commands because I have to say I'm feeling no compulsion to obey it?"
"No, it's just irritating… No! Irritating's the wrong word. Er… off-putting! It's breaking up the flow."
"Gotcha! Sorry. Won't speak again."
"Ha ha! Unless I order you to!"
"What!? You chauvinist pig! You think all women are only here to be commanded by men?"
"No! No! No! It was a reference to hypnotism! We're… trying to do street hypnotism here. Remember?"
"Oh… okay. I do remember, now you mention it. I am feeling myself getting sleepy. I think this is working."
"What's working? I haven't done anything yet!"
"Really? Oh, well do you want to get a move on then because some of us have real jobs to get back to."
"Okay! Fine… We'll do this quickly… Look into my eyes and don't say a thing! while you're looking deep, deep into my eyes… Feel yourself getting drowsy… You can only hear… Did you just glance at my crotch?"
"The sun glinted off the material. I don't think you should wear shiny trousers for street hypnotism."
—–
It was at this point that I brought the Street Hypnotism Exam to an end. Unfortunately, Paul had failed but I thanked him for his time, pointed out a few areas he needed to address, and told him I looked forward to seeing him try again in the near future.
#StreetPhotography #StreetPics #ShootTheStreet
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In a wonderfully warm ceremony – a great counterpoint to the cold weather – Chichester was today twinned with Moscow. Vladimir Putin could not attend as he was busy posing topless for Judo Fishermen On Horses Quarterly (Russia's top-selling magazine dealing exclusively with fishermen who like both wearing pyjamas and the feel of a stallion between their thighs). However, to impress the importance of this bond between the two great cities the Russian President did send along an old woman with a headscarf as a gift of friendship. This will be a welcome addition to Chichester's existing collection of old women in odd headwear. President Putin, thank you.
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