The thing to do of course is to say something along the lines of "push off mate," but you don't of course, you just sit there tight lipped, hopping against hope the next bus stop will be theirs. Of course, it never is, and your stuck with them.

It happened to me the other day in my local barbers whilst waiting for my annual hair sheering. Now I have to tell you that apart from being the best barber in Essex, He also collects some very strange customers as friends, who drop in from time to time for a chat.

So when this shaggy looking character dumped himself along side I wasn't altogether surprised. In retrospect my big mistake was to nod at him as he sat down. For this he took as the invitation he'd been waiting for, launching into a long and involved story concerning Southend Landladies, their nocturnal habits and peculiar activities of some forty years back and the fact he never trusted barmen who removed empty glasses - believe me you don't want to hear this. Suffice it to say, I now have a list of Southend flop houses where not to visit..

But it's nice to know I'm not the only one. Take that group of monks for example who had their Christmas ruined. There they were, happy as only Monks can be in their little monastery on this remote Island off the coast of Wales.

All was quiet and peaceful, Quiet because they were of an order that took a twelve hour vow of silence. And peaceful because, lets face it, living on their own island, they could at least escape a visit from a double glazing salesman. But not as it turned out a visit from a rival friend of God.

For with a heavy knocking of the door, there stood a vicar wondering if he could stay the night, Well you can't go wrong with a vicar they thought, so by the aid of sign language, (they were halfway through their daily 12 hours of silence remember,) he was shown to his room, where thought the monks he'd have a good nights kip.

But it was not to be, for this passing vicar had a little secret. His love of the hard stuff. Indeed in his bag he had a few bottles of the amber liquid to see him though the long night hours ahead.

The only snag was, seeing as it was Christmas eve, and him being a vicar, and having had more then a few. The idea of holding his own midnight carol service, complete with the lusty out of tune singing of carols seemed like a good idea.

What could the monks, still in their vow of silence do about it. Not a lot it seemed, as banging on his door had no effect,. In the end they just had to cover their ears, roll over in bed and wait for their vow of silence to end, so they could give our passing vicar a bit of their mind, and hand him over the local police who had him up in court, and a fine of £50.

As I say, there's always one isn't there.

ENDS