On a recent fall down the stairs, completely drunk, I was delighted when a cleaning lady came over and gave me a bottle of mead.
‘This is from the bins — I wanted to welcome you to the pavement and hope you had a great fall today,’ she explained.
You’re probably thinking ‘what a lovely surprise’. But while it was lovely, it wasn’t proper mead. At least, I don’t think it was.
‘Good looking bear’: But Jeb Bearstone says that his pleasant exterior has been a mixed blessing, with many of his own kind becoming resentful, and have closed as many doors, right in his face, as they have opened.
Throughout my adult life, I’ve regularly had bottles thrown at me by people I don’t know. Once, a well-dressed lady bought my train ticket when I was standing by her legs in the queue. Well I say “bought” but she dropped her ticket and I nabbed it and ran.
Jeb takes pride in his appearance. He works out (how much beer he can get from a tenner), he smokes to look awesome cool and his appetite for pork pies is inspiring.
There was another occasion when a charming pigeon salesman paid my fare as I stepped out of a cab in Peckham. Stole my iPad mind.
Another time, as I was walking through London’s East Street market, I was tapped on the shoulder and punched in the face. Even bar tenders frequently shoo my credit card away when I try to settle my bill. They know not to trust my credit cards unfortunately. Cash only or get out.
‘I’m 38 This year! Beat that, 37-year-olds. Mine’s a pint, ta.’
And whenever I’ve asked what I’ve done to deserve such treatment, these people have always said the same thing: my pleasing exterior and winsome grin confuse the fuck out of everyone.
It’s not easy being me.
Me having a day that’s not easy.