Encounter: Dancing in the doorway

A brief conversation left Billy Mann lost for words

They bumped into one another in the doorway to the community centre. They were both visibly pleased by the accidental meeting. 

"I'm here for the folk dancing," one told the other. "Third floor." 

The other, from genuine interest rather than politeness, asked how he had been. 

"Not that good. I haven't been around much, to be honest." He stepped forward, drawing closer, and lowered his tone. "My mate Rita's got cancer." He stepped back and made a rapid swishing motion with the index finger of his right hand. "Had a mastectomy." 
The other felt inadequate, not knowing what the appropriate response was. The truth was he wasn't sure there even was one. They shook hands and went their separate ways.

Encounter: On Golden Lane

Children and animals - keep your distance from Billy Mann

I don't think I can be faulted for not spotting the approach of this particular missile. I was walking home one afternoon when I became aware of three children further down the road I was on. They were in high spirits, excited and laughing. As I neared them, two peeled off, leaving a girl, I guess around ten years old, standing in front of me. She spoke to me directly.

"Excuse me, mister, but did you know..." 
She stopped, looked slightly bashful, then returned her gaze to mine.
"Did you know that David Cameron..." she started to giggle and looked around for her friends. I thought it was time to say something, so I pulled off my glasses, dipped my head slightly and uttered, "I'm sorry, I don't hear very well..." I thought I was giving her the opportunity to make a quick exit from the encounter, but no, she ploughed on with renewed vigour.
"David Cameron. He's the prime minister." 
I nodded.
"He put his penis in a pig's mouth. I'm sorry, this is very rude." 
The giggles got the better of her and she covered her mouth with her hand. I feigned surprise, opening my eyes wide in mock shock.
"One of his ministers... One of his min... Someone who used to work for him spread it around. It's true. It's all over the internet."
"Was the pig alive?" I asked
"No, it was dead," she replied.
"A dead pig?!"
"Yes."
"Well, thankyou for telling me that. That is a very strange thing to do, isn't it?"
"Yes, bye."

Conversation: Ball breaker

Billy Mann was not expecting this particular slice of life...

He came and sat down beside me. The large room was virtually empty, so anything spoken in confidence had a good chance of staying that way. 
"The doctor wants to whip off one of my bollocks."
I was not totally blindsided by this statement. He had told me before of the difficulties he experiences in that area. Chief among them was persistent though sporadic testicular pain, the result, he says, of a digestive disease he suffered some years earlier. "That's where all the poison ends up, in your bollocks."
The pain, he said, only arrived following exertion and was controlled easily with generic painkillers.

"If I was in constant pain, I wouldn't hesitate. Straight under the knife, but as it is I can live with it. The doctor still wants it chopped off, though."

I held both hands between my legs, pulled a tortured face and quietly squealed, "Oooo!"
He went on: "He's determined, but I told him I was quite attached to it."

I wanted to ask, "Left or right?" but bottled it, and took a pathetic stab at levity instead.

"Didn't Hitler only have one plum?"

"Nah, that's a myth."

"So, if they lop one off, do you get some kind of falsie to fill the space? A gobstopper thing?""Yes. It's like a ballbearing, same size, same weight. They just make a little slice, pop out the bad ball and put the ballbearing in."

I wanted to ask if he thought a man's attachment to his scrotum can be compared with a woman's feelings about her breasts, but the question seemed unnecessarily stupid and the answer seemed selfevident, so I bottled it, made some excuse, and scuttled out of the room, walking as if I had just dismounted a horse.