'I have no idea what he's talking about', I thought as I sat on the bus with the Baron and Mum, opposite to the man who, notwithstanding the fact that I couldn't understand what he was talking about, talked about it anyway, at great length. Indeed, occasionally there would be pauses in his talking about whatever-it-is-that-he-was-talking about, and you would have time to put in a little 'oh no!' or 'how true!' or 'remarkable!' depending on the tone of his voice. For some reason, both he and I felt completely comfortable with this arrangement, though for all I knew, I could have been making completely inappropriate exclamations: 'My finger got chopped off the other day.' 'Excellent!' I wouldn't know. After all, as you will remember, I had no idea what he was talking about.
After the Baron and I got off the bus - Mum having got off a few stops earlier - the Baron turned to me and said:
"What on earth was he saying? I couldn't understand it at all."
Later, we met back up with Mum in the city*. She confessed to us: "I'm never able to follow his conversation. I talk to him whenever I see him on the bus. No idea what he says though."
I wonder what he thought of us? Maybe "what nice people they are. If only they could talk a little more. I've no idea what they're thinking about..."
*The city being Newcastle.
Tim, your links stink, you fink!
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