Glass is being thrown; I fling myself behind a barrier and scramble on to a ledge for safety. A nonplussed school pupil from south London has had the same idea. He grins, gives me a hand up and offers me a cigarette of which he is at least two years too young to be in possession. I find that my teeth are chattering and not just from cold. \”It\’s scary, isn\’t it?\” I ask. The boy shrugs. \”Yeah,\” he says, \”I suppose it is scary. But frankly…\” He lights up, cradling the contraband fag, \”frankly, it\’s not half as scary as what\’s happening to our future.\”
I\’m sure it happened just like that.
Methinks that this is another appearance of that patron saint of quote hungry journalists: PJ O\’Rourke\’s famous foreign taxi driver being another manifestation.
You know the one: \”The taxi driver from the airport told me this story that I\’m just right now making up to give my piece a tag line\”.
C\’mon FFS. Who, other than Stephen Fry, still uses the word \”frankly\” in conversation?