Passer-by: What are you doing taking a photograph of a private house?
Me: I’m not taking a photograph of the house. I’m taking a photograph of the gorilla sculpture in its front garden.
Me: Because I threw it a banana.
Passer-by: Did you think that was funny?
Me: Yes, it made me smile a little bit.
Passer-by: Doesn’t that feel like quite a juvenile thing to do?
Me: Well, it didn’t at the time. It felt Banksy-ish. Using groceries.
You’re sort of taking the shine off it though, I have to admit.
Passer-by: And why is your son crying?
Me: Oh, he’s fine. He wanted to throw the banana.
Passer-by: So why didn’t you let him?
Me: I didn’t trust him to throw it in the right place. I wouldn’t have been able to get through the railings to move it and then the owners might not have got the gag.
Who are you, anyway?
Passer-by: I’m a passer-by.
Me: Well, pass on by then, if you don’t mind. Unless you see me next week, alone, with a hand-grenade.