The ironic mugger mugs me, ironically.
“Don’t give me your wallet and bag, then, pfff!”
I ask if he is being sarcastic.
“Der, no – I was being ironic?”
Ah, such a fine line.
I venture to express the opinion that a funeral is hardly the time or the place for such pursuits.
“It’s the most ironic place to be an ironic mugger – one person loses their life, another person loses their possessions. It doesn’t get more ironic than that.”
The ironic mugger goes on to explain that he is hoping to win Most Original Newcomer at this year’s British Petty Crime Awards, his main opponent being a method cat burglar who ingratiates himself with his intended victims by being taken into their home as a stray cat before cleaning them out.
I express surprise that anyone could carry off such a feat, considering the relative sizes of moggy and human.
“He is a dwarf with dwarf-dwarfism,” he says.
As I hand over my wallet and bag, I wish the ironic mugger the best of luck with this year’s British Petty Crime Awards, before launching into the first verse of The King of Love My Saviour Is.