Paris of Troy

I got a lift to King's Cross with two German girls. On Judd St, not far from Russel Sq. I was passing by three boozy fellows walking the same direction as me. Going at easy pace I could hear one of them saying in a deep, theatrical voice: "My father says I'm stupid but, you know, I feel so sad every time when I wait for her all night before she comes back home..." Soon I overtook them and went on. I got to King's Cross station. The ladies paid the fare, thanked me politely and were gone. On the way back I saw those three chaps again. Same guy, raising his beautiful, deep voice dramatically, carried on with his story: "..SHE WENT TO PARIS WITH ANOTHER DUDE!!!" His two companions watched him gravely.

...

Night was dramatically shitty. There was absolutely nothing to be done about it. First I was going in circles to no effect at all. Then I stopped to chat with Monty for a while. Next I got a puncture. When I finally got a lift, two German lads produced £50 note by the end of it. I spent about half an hour desperately trying to change it. At least they were patient. Somehow I got another lift. Then nothing and nothing at all... Finally I decided to help a fellow rider to fix a flat tyre. It was on Cambridge Circus. Soon on my left a bunch of white chavs started to pick on some Bangladeshi riders. They tried to take away one of their rickshaws. We stopped them. Then they chose one of the smallest opponents and they were right about to beat him up. I managed to talk some sense into them only to realise that on my right some black guys were trying to pinch my trike... I rushed there. One of them was already sitting on it. Fortunately his friends were smarter than him. Together we convinced him to leave it and walk away. All that done we got back to my mate's puncture. The inner tube was too damaged. We didn't manage and he ended up walking his rickshaw back to quite a distant garage...