This is why I love Yorkshire. Stood in pouring rain outside the railway station; a teenage lad staggers up, very drunk and soaked, wearing shorts and a tshirt.

‘..buy a fag, mate?’
‘excuse me?’

He rocks back and forth for a while staring somewhere over my head.

‘A fag. For a quid mate. Give us a smoke.’
‘Ah right, sorry.. I don’t smoke.’
(we’re both stood under a huge No Smoking sign, me under the canopy, him still in the rain)

He then starts to walk off but walks straight into a metal column. Picking himself up he careers off into the station and is gone. Five minutes later he reappears from the other direction.

‘Mate, ah say, mate. Sell us a fag like. Go on.’
‘As I said, I don’t smoke. So I have no cigarettes to give you’.
He looks utterly distraught by this so I add..
‘..why not go to the actual Smoking Area, someone there will have one I’m sure’.

He blinks for the longest time, thinking this through. Then pointing at me he exclaims..

‘You. You’re like, you’re.. like fecking Mastermind or summat, you are.’

And off he goes again, in completely the wrong direction.