Here’s a tip.
Do not – under any circumstances – exchange playful hand signals with your siblings when nonchalantly walking down the busy Portland Road.
This is especially true if sharing the Queen’s Highway with the Great Unwashed.
You may die.
The sound of red hot brakes on a grubby, unmarked white van.
“YEAH. YOU. FAHKIN CAHNT!”
“Could I render you some sort of assistance?”
“YOU FAHKING FLIPPED ME THE FAHKING BIRD YOU FAHKING CAHNT!”
“I beg your pardon, my good man?”
“YOU FAHKIN SLAAAAG. I SAW YA, FAHKIN CAHNT. YOU GAVE ME THE FAHKING FINGER”
“What? No… I was waving at somebody else. And did they not teach you anything at the inner city establishment that passed as a school? Manners cost nothing.”
“FAHK OFF YOU CAHNT. OO WUZ YOU FAHKIN FLICKIN THE FAHKIN BIRD AT THEN YOU SHLAAAAG”
“My …err… sisters.”
Them, sweetly: “Hello.”
“YOU LYIN’ FAHKIN CAHNT. I OUGHT TO FAHKIN… beep beep…”
Saved by a text message, I fled to the safety of my nearby car, to see the thug roar off at speed, screech to another halt 100 yards down the road, and roundly abuse another passer-by.
“YOU FAHKIN OLD BAG! I SAW YA CALLIN ME A WANKER. D’YOU WANT SOME?”
Some cahnt clearly needs anger classes.