Dear God, Roberts mate, I thought Geoff the Minge (as I thought I'd christen him to match your Raw Steak Boy
) was bad enough, but that's horrific. And you mention the shame. It is the shame of it - you think that whoever's getting ripped off and/or cheated will think you are as bad as the minge because you're in his company.
Puts me in mind of another incident on the German trip (which we'd been looking forward to, but which turned into a nightmare). He pretended to be crippled (turned up with a stick and a limp and everything), to get the best seat on the coach, get the special lift for wheelchairs at both ends of the ferry terminals, stay on the coach at Dover customs while the rest of us wandered through in the freezing cold, his duty frees unloaded by the driver, and then when we drove him home, hopped out of the car and strode up the path, swinging the stick.
To my intense fury, Mr May actually got the boot open to unload his stuff.
Well. I was out of the car faster than a jackrabbit with its arse on fire. Screaming at Mr May to leave the stuff where it was, and for Geoff the Minge to fucking well unload it himself or I'd chuck it up the road. He did a silly smile, a shrug, and a wave of his stick, which cost him a case full. After that, he forgot all about being crippled.