Nelson is returning to London later today and he looked rather sheepish as he was eating a hearty breakfast of eggs and fried mushrooms.
‘Don’t want to go back, Nel?’ I asked him.
‘No, it’s this.’
He produced from his pocket an expensive-looking, brown leather wallet and placed it on the table in front of him.
‘Who the hell does that belong to, Nelson?’ I asked him. I suddenly felt very uncomfortable.
‘I stole it from a man when I was in the pub the other night,’ he said, nonchalantly.
‘For God’s sake, Nelson!’
He remained perfectly calm as he reached for the tomato ketchup.
‘Look,’ he said finally, ‘There I was minding my own business, happily drinking myself into Bolivia, when this guy approaches – completely uninvited – and starts doing magic tricks right there in front of me. He was a textbook asshole. He wouldn’t go away and he quickly became increasingly tired of my persistent and extravagant attempts to get him to tell me how all his tricks were done. His slight-of-hand skills really were something to behold, though. I have to admit that for a while there I was mesmerised, blinking furiously in the candlelight at the table in the little pub as his hands flashed in front of my face in what I thought was a rather obvious attempt to seduce me and get me into bed. I said: “I’m not gay.” Then he bet me £10 that he could drink a shot of whisky without touching the glass or something . . . Of course I fell for it. And of course I can’t remember how he managed to do it. Then he demanded I hand over the tenner. You can guess the rest. Naturally, I refused: I felt like punching him. Then – the weirdest thing – he started chanting these strange, arcane words at me. He was putting a spell on me, Napoleon,’ he said, suddenly very serious.
‘So you stole his wallet?’ I asked.
‘Yep. Any more coffee?’
This is not totally out of character for Nelson. He is prone to unpredictable and sometimes wayward behaviour, but on this occasion, he has surprised me.
‘I will have to have you sectioned under the mental health act,’ I told him with grave emphasis.
‘Not if I bloody section you first!’ he spat.
I shall take the wallet to the police station later today and tell them I found it in the street. There are credit cards in it, by the way, but no cash.
I suppose Nelson feels, in acting the way he did, that he has restored some kind of objective balance to the world. And if he subsequently morphs into a tadpole, I shall let you know – after I have notified the relevant authorities.
On the Fantastic hi-fi today:
London Calling – The Clash
Yours Truly, Angry Mob – The Kaiser Chiefs
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