I found myself sober at a houseshare where a friend was supposed to be cooking me dinner, but where two drunken gentlemen who’d failed to leave from the night before were still in attendance having consumed a bottle of vodka for brunch and another for tea.
Naturally, I hit the wine hard; after a rapid couple of glasses, the conversation steered onto the horrible but unavoidable topic of Baby P. Luckily, before political prejudices could be aired, one of the drunken non-current-affairs following gentlemen said “who the fuck is Baby P?”.
Not entirely to my credit, the answer I gave was “a very small rapper, who was beaten to death by some white people”. Not entirely to their credit, the people about acquiesced in this answer. The n-c-a-f chap asked some more questions, which we answered honestly but not, perhaps, giving the full flavour of the case.
If Mr N-C-A-F gets lynched, then I’ll feel quite bad about the whole situation…
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