One is a slightly seedy chap, the next is a drunk.
In terms of time – I look at it a different way, as this story hopefully illustrates: I was at a BNI chapter last week, and at the end of the meeting, the chap sitting next to me (a web designer) said: "Right – better get off to work then".
"But we've 46 feet between uz and the cliff – there's a chap in the next park along, he's only 12, and his van i'nt even chained!" He shook his head at the idea of such folly then pointed out an embayment in the cliff between two promontories.
I use my iPhone torch shamelessly (although when I offer it later to the chap at the next table, who's holding the menu so close it's touching his nose, he shrinks back. Who wants to look "old" in Shoreditch, his expression screams).
So my chap called the next day, and the secretary asked him how large a check he needed.
Slebs still seem to oblige, but one senses these huddled chaps may be the next victims of the digital age.
They put the old chap on the fire, and the next moment I almost jumped out of my skin, because he'd started kicking.
The next day, the Express was pitiless toward the chaps at Albert Hall.
They are trying to get away from a drunk by the name of Clancarty, a quarrelsome chap who is going into the Army the next day.
