Before West Ham home games it has become a pre-match ritual for me to visit Ken’s Cafe, just down Green Street from the stadium, for a pre-match fry-up. Jo Phillips and her grandson Marlowe join me, and we catch up on the gossip over Sausage, Beans & Chips. We queue up and our order is taken by the lovely Carole, who seems to be my biggest fan on LBC. She regularly takes me to task if I have been too hard on a caller or an interviewee. Anyway, as we were queuing up today I noticed a slightly surly looking youth take back two cups of tea, which he had ordered. Gradually an argument between the two of them ensued, and it finished with Carol thrusting some coins at him and asking him to leave the cafe. He threw the coins back at her and called her a “fucking old bag”. We all looked on in slight horror, as the cafe turned silent. He then tried to walk past me on his way out. On the spur of the moment I jabbed my finger into his chest and said in the most macho voice I could summon up: “You don’t talk to people like that.” The youth replied: “Yeah, and what are you going to do about it?” “Try me and find out,” I retorted, pulling myself up to my full 6 foot 2 inches. With that he left.
Why was it, though, that no one else said a word? Surely more people should have stood up to defend Carole’s honour? All it takes is for good people to do nothing, and…
