Conversation in a bus queue

You alright love?

Nah. Got one o mi ‘eads, innit

You bin ‘avin a fall out wi your Ted again?

Yeah

What was it this time?

He kept goin’ on about ‘ow constructivist ideas have influenced not only the humanities and social sciences but are taking hold in analytical philosophy

You didn't let him get away wi that I ope?

Course not. I told him straight: Anti-objectivist conceptions of truth and rationality are not generally accepted in mainstream philosophy departments in the English speaking world...,

What did he say?

He sed: I’m the professor of philosophy, dear – not you.

There’s bin no doin’ any good wi your Ted since they give him that chair in analytical friggin philosophy. What did you say?

Nothin’. Just pointed to mi Nobel prize for physics on t’mantelpiece.

A bet that shut him up. Hey - they got red plums on special offer in Morrisons.

A know. I got some. They're dead ‘ard.

It could be barometric pressure.

What, makin’ t’plums ‘ard?

No, yer bad ‘ead. Remember that paper I wrote on the effects of barometric pressure on neural pathways in the pre frontal cortex, and the possible link to certain forms of migraine?

Course. A read it in t, New Scientist. But this int migraine – it’s more like a throbbin’ behind mi eyes.

Yer could try puttin em on t’winder ledge in sunlight.

Eh?

Yer plums.

A did. Dog et 'em.

Greedy bugger. A don’t know why you don’t leave him.

Who?

Your Ted.

But where’d a go?

Couldn’t yer stop wi yer mum for a bit?

Mi mum! She’s on a bleedin’ lecture tour of South America. Selfish cow.

Oh. I bumped into Stevie t’other day.

Stevie Hawking?

Yeah. He was coming outta Ladbrokes. Got that bleedin’ great chair of his stuck in t'door. Took me and this Latvian Big Issue seller manoeuvre him out. He kept shouting instructions but I couldn’t understand a word. Dunno what this poor Latvian bugger made of him.

Am not surprised. Still got that crappy voice synthesiser, ‘as he?

Oh aye. A sed to’ im, when we finally got him out, Bout time yer got yourself some decent software in that thing. You sound like a fuckin’ Dalek.

What did he say?

Bugger off. He said: There were only two o’ these voice synthesisers in the world, and I bought em both.
 A sed: But yer’ve ad em twenty years as I know of. Technology’s come a long way since then Stevie boy.

You wer tekin a chance there. Yer know what he’s like when he gets angry.

Yeah. He said: Think a don’t know that, you silly cow. This gives me mi distinctive voice. Makes me sound like God. D’you think a want to come across like that upstart Coxey!

Oh, that reminds me, he wer round our house on Saturday.

Stevie Hawking?

No – Brian Cox.

Not on the cadge again?

No, it seems BBC av asked him do another telly programme: The origins of the universe – some shit like that. Couldn’t get his Big Bang equations to work out. Asked me to have a butcher’s.

He’s a cheeky sod, that one.

Aye. A sed: Look Bri, darlin’, ad love to help but am so busy. Got to get mi new book out by Christmas. Mi publisher’s givin mi ‘earache.

What did he say?

Just whipped out this tin o’ Quality Street, didn’t he.

Oh, that’s not fair.

No. Anyway, next minute we’re getting stuck in on t’kitchen table.

Wi chocolates or equations?

Both. And you know where he’d gone wrong?

Go on, surprise me.

He’d only missed out t’conversion friggin factor for nano seconds to planck time.

Cosmologists? Av shit ‘em.

Yeah. Dunno why he gets on telly so much.

Fish!

Eh?

A need get some fish for our ‘Arry’s supper.

What, he back from Cerne then?

Just for t’weekend. They aint found that Higgs Boson particle yet.

I’m not surprised. A told ‘em when they was designing that bleedin’ Collider - they should have used glass fibre optics in both primary and secondary circuits on the acceleration virtual display. But they wouldn’t listen.

Oh. Talkin o’ Morrisons –

Eh?

They got three for two on Sherbert Lemons.

Have they? Am havin’ some o’ that. I love Sherbert Lemons.

Yeah. And yer can mix and match wi assorted toffees... He,s ‘avin Oscar shot into space, you know.

Who is?

Stevie Hawking.

What’s he wanna do that for?

Well, he wants to go himself really, but they can’t get his wheelchair into t’rocket.

Them rockets should be made more wheelchair friendly.

That’s what he said. But if he can’t go, Oscar’s t’next best thing.

I’m surprised that dog ain't in a friggin wheelchair – he’s had it nearly as long as his voice synthesiser.

Eh up! 'ere comes mi bus. Shall I see you down the bingo on Thursday.

Aye, more 'n likely. But if a don't get down there a'll see yer at the Symposium on Climate Change next weekend.

Oh, A'd forgot about that. You tekin t'chair agen?

Aye, but for the last time. They're only payin' me 2k, plus travel of course.

Stingy buggers.

Yeah, anyway must go. Ta ra love.

You got yer bus pass?

A' got our Annie's. They never check. See you later.

See you later.











Yeah, well, I gotta be off, love. I’m chairing that all-party committee on Press Regulation.
That reminds me – ‘ow’s yer piles?
Oh, they’ve cleared up a treat, after the doc prescribed that ointment
That’s good. Cos didn’t that Harley Street geezer want you to have the operation
Yeah. I told him to piss off
I should think so too
Well, al say tara then. Will I see you down the bingo on Thursday?
I’m not sure, but if not I’ll definitely see you at that symposium on climate change, at the weekend. Don’t forget to bring yer knittin’
What’re yer like!
Tara then
Tara