On a bus going from Kingston to Ham. Two girls, about 19 or 20, slightly chav, but not very, in case you were wondering (big hoop earrings, voices quite Sarf London, but dressed quite trendily in outfits I'd like myself, and not your out and out Waynettas). You'll see why I mention this when you read the conversation.
"Mike didn't get my letter. I told him I wrote but he doesn't believe it just went missing. He'll be out on Monday, so it probably won't get to him now."
I pricked up my ears. Well, "out" could mean anything, he might be in hospital, I told myself.
"He doesn't phone me so often now, 'cos he's moved wings."
Now, hospitals don't have wings. Prisons have wings. At this point the boy in the seat next to me needed to get off the bus, so I had to stand up temporarily. I accidentally stood on the convict's girlfriend's foot.
"Sorry, sorry, so sorry" I bleated. Ooh, please don't follow me off the bus and beat me up. Or follow me home and have a word with your charming partner when he gets out on Monday, telling him my address. She didn't seem to notice. Phew!
She then went into a description of her night out with her sister
"And my Dad phoned us. Couldn't understand a word he was saying. He's always pissed."
I suppose my reaction was very snobbish. Not much more than 20, boyfriend in prison (although it might just have been a friend, or maybe a relative, come to think of it, but my instincts told me not), pisshead for a Dad, what a life. But she had a job, which she had mentioned she had just left for the evening (think it might have been in a shop), was not unattractive, and spoke warmly of her friends. Who am I to judge.
As you may have noticed, I've taken to relating conversations on this blog. I got the idea from a website for writers, which says that you should listen to real people speaking in order to sharpen up your dialogue, and I'm the nosiest person ever, so I need no encouraging.
I now realise that the last 3 conversations I've blogged have involved somebody going out with a convict and with an alcoholic father; a guy with hardly any disposable income buying cheap cider; and a small child requesting a chainsaw. I live in a nice part of West London, honestly! I'll try to overhear something a bit more cultured next time!