When Harvey met Larry

So I go round to this guy’s house. I met him a few times over the past year and we’d talked a bit about writing and music. He's a nice bloke and I wanted to get to know him better.

I turn up and immediately I'm stuck for something to talk about. He's an intellectual and I'm just someone who dicks around with words. I'm too scared to discuss a book I'm reading at the moment. I read one of Ishiguro’s other books before and despite the narrative using a very distinctive if somewhat awkward voice - I found it an enjoyable and thought provoking read, but I couldn't bring myself to discuss the problems I have with the other Ishiguro, so I just made a bit of small talk and he put on a video.

What do you do in the video situation? It was a sitcom. Can you talk over a sitcom? Talking over a film is a no no, but a sitcom? Was it a deliberate move to have some background noise and allow chat to happen? Naturally I'm mulling this over and in retrospect I should have just asked, it may have led to an interesting discussion on the etiquette surrounding the sitcom. Instead I sat there and laughed. Maybe I was laughing too loud? I had to check myself a couple of times. Too much laughter says ‘I need this to be funny’, not enough and you could look bored.

I had brought some Penguin biscuits from a 100% extra free pack I’d bought earlier that day. I was going to make an offering of them, but there was something too cheap about them. They didn't come in the original red wrapper, because they were the 100% free pack. I left them in the bag, berating myself for my unintended cheapness and cowardice.

Then his flatmate turns up. I didn't bring any beer, but this guy did, which just compounded my guilt further, so I declined a beer, opting for water - maybe as some sort of gesture. To whom this gesture was being made, I don't know.

Then I started to think about my feet. I could just smell them inside my big steel toe caps and was sure the stench of work was still on me. What was I doing going empty handed into this guys house with rotten feet, nothing to say for myself and half a packet of biscuits?

On the way home I past by a drunk who was alone in the freezing cold, shouting at some swans and he helped to put things into perspective.

I'm a dumb schmuck, but a lucky one.