The depression, despair and dismay tour

I met Wilf yesterday in central London to attend a walk he'd been recommended by one of his Scout Pack (he's Scoutmaster of the 2nd Gants Hill Branch) - the Depression, Despair and Dismay tour which runs in the empty City of London at the weekend at 2pm sharp. The tour guide, a diminutive scotsman, ironically named Scott Walker (his parents must have either had a canny sense of humour or incredible foresight - who knows?) Anyway, I digress, Scott's apparently an incredible storyteller as well as a former child actor who took his one man rendition of 'Oh What A Lovely War' to war torn Shropshire in the 1980s.

The walk lasted a whole two hours, which made it excellent value at £8 each. Beforehand Wilf managed to squash his egg and pickle sandwiches on the Central Line en route to London so we treated ourselves to a shared 'foot long' baguette from Subway, which we ate from each side, reminicent of the famous scene from Disney's 'Lady and the Tramp' (I'm not prepared to state who was the lady and who indeed was the tramp...)

Scott performed the walk with gusto and we were particularly frightened when he led us down a dark alley where a strange looking gentleman was reading by the light of a lamp in the shape of a skull. He entertained us with tales of bloodshed, deceit and murder in olde London. I particuarly loved his theories about the identity of Jack The Ripper, but Wilf argued against some of his hyphotheses stating that the particular suspects couldn't have possible perpetrated those heinous crimes. Sometimes Wilf is surprising: his sheer knowledge of serial killers is to be admired. After the walk several of the group asked for Scott's autograph and picture, both of which he refused unless they favourably reviewed the walk on TripAdvisor beforehand.

At 4:15pm Wilf and I went a local Wetherspoons for a drink and a bite to eat. We were enjoying our meals when we heard the braying tones of a group discussing the recent changes to the civil service pension scheme. They kept reiterating the point that the civil service didn't deserve such favourable terms but Wilf kept the peace until they started suggesting that 60% of public sector workers should lose their jobs, this is when he had his 'Incredible Hulk' moment and shouted at them that he'd accepted rubbish pay and a life of incredible tedium in return for comfortable conditions and favourable pension rights. He returned to our table red and shaking but he'd shown me the true measure of his passion and devotion and I liked it!

Wilf accompanied me to Charing Cross Station, we shared a chaste kiss and he invited me to his parents' adult baptisms which are taking place on Shoreham Nudist Beach in a fortnight's time. I enquired whether there was a minimum dress code but he assured me that my lycra mix tankini would prove suitable attire.