I went to watch Ziggy spin some fire this afternoon. Yes in daylight. Hippies make love not war and never sense.
As I arrived at the bar we usually base ourselves in for such activities, locally named Dodgy Rodgers, thus hinting as to the ambiance, a man told me he liked my shoes. A strange man. A not just strange in general man, but also complete stranger to me man. I knew then it was going downhill. Fast.
I went inside to order myself a coffee. The strange man followed me. Came up beside me where I was waiting at the bar, and started to sniff me. Audibly. I tried to back away but there was nowhere to go but bar. Strange sniffing man had me pinned between him and the bar, and he kept sniffing. Told me I smelt am maz ing. I'm used to such strange men. Was born with a magnet for them, but still. This was a little annoying.
Strange sniffing man continued. To sniff that is. Not a great reader of body language this guy. I was surprised he could smell anything over and above eau de stella Perhaps this was some mating ritual so sophisticated I'd not realised. Sniff, sniff, sniff. He asked me what I smelt of and I told him, Hypnotic Poison. 'Oh', he says all disappointed. 'I thought it might be some special aroma, just of you'. 'Erm, no, fortunately' I say 'this is made by Christian Dior and comes out of a bottle'. 'An expensive '(it's all relative for Stella boy remember!) 'bottle'. He didn't take the hint.
My coffee arrived and I went outside. Looking hopefully for support from Ziggy and another friend. As if. They were helpless with laughter. The bastards. Strange sniffing man continues to labour the point that he feels the am maz ing aroma is clearly all me and not perfume. He starts to sniff me again. I am unimpressed, but this time sat on a dip in the wall where Ziggy has lifted me to, so I'm really unable to move away. Strange sniffing man has a friend. Who decides to join in. Tells me he likes my belt. Is it making a statement? 'Er, other than that I like sparkly things, no.' But I will be very soon. Trust me. To the police.
Sniffing man is emboldened. He starts to stroke me. I lean backwards as far as I dare and tell him firmly to fuck off. Stella being involved I have no desire for him to suddenly turn on the object of his sniffing affections and bottle me before Ziggy can get to me to intervene. Sniffy doesn't get the message though he does stop stroking me and return to sniffing. Asks who this Christian Dior character is and how much he costs. I consider briefly telling Sniffy more than he could ever afford to touch me, but know that is asking for trouble. Know that will invite offers of money and yet more stroking.
Sniffing man is disappointed I've told him to fuck off. Fortunately he takes it well, and not as an invitation to hit me in the face with a glass bottle. After a few more sniffs he drunkenly staggers off. I am greatly relieved.
Later I phone Roland and relate this tale of sniffing. He howls with laughter. I tell him he is my local friendly neighbourhood policeman and I am reporting it to him. He says he isn't too sure where sniffing comes in the vast array of criminal offences and as this is not a car he couldn't give a fuck. It is very funny though. You couldn't make it up. You'd better put it in your blog.