I experienced one of those gut-wrenchingly cringe worthy moments tonight. The kind which torment you for years to come, just as you’re trying to get to sleep… Out and about on Temple Street with some visiting friends I bumped into Tim, the noodle restaurant owner next to our flat – a lovely chap. I happily bounced up to him and introduced my French friend, complimented his entrepreneurial wizardry and told his wife how wonderful his cooking was. “This is Tim, he’s a legend, you’ll have to go and visit him” etc..etc… I trotted off, ignoring the fact that he did seem quite perplexed by the chance encounter. A full 5 hours later, I realised why. It wasn’t the noodle guy, his name wasn’t even Tim – it was fucking Steve, our laundry dude – who I’m on equally good terms with. We’ve chatted every weekend for over a year, I know both of their names and see them several times a week…
It would’ve been less worse if I’d gone up to a random – at least that would’ve produced a hilarious anecdote on both sides – this just resulted in me reinforcing the somewhat racist notion that the Chinese ‘all look the same’ to foreigners.
Now I’m trying to think of a reasonable cover story. Amnesia perhaps? Feeling a bit scatty after my daily injection? He knows I’m tee-total , but I could suggest I was coaxed into having a couple of beverages and was – obviously – very, very, insanely confused. What a bloody tit.
I wouldn’t mind, but it’s the second time this happened. I once accosted Phil Jupitus at Glastonbury, insisting – much to his annoyance – that he was Chris Moyles. I know what each of them look like, but – no joke, I honestly thought he was Moylesy… Is this problem just me, or what?