We are between workshops, seated on the patch of grass that is sandwiched between the main building at Goldsmiths, the Gym and a building site. Christ Church Quad it is not. As I am being something of a girl and feeling cold I have endeavoured not to remove my cape and so have been sitting on one half of Breakfast Club Boy's coat for the last ten minutes or so.
"You might want to be careful" Breakfast Club Boy says eventually.
I wonder what is coming. "Why?"
"There's a split tea bag in one of the pockets and I think it's the pocket you're sitting on".
"There's a tea bag in your pocket?" It is something that clearly needs repeating in order for my brain to process it. Just as I also process that I probably have tea-bag marks on my predominantly white dress. Obviously the law of maximum stain damage would mean it would in my half rather than his.
I move slightly and begin to rifle through the inner pocket closest to me. It is only when I have begun doing this that I realise that going through someone's pockets is not actually a polite thing to do. Especially when you have commandeered half of their coat. This, however, does not stop me as I find said teabag. Which is indeed split.
I hold it in my hand.
There is, of course, a perfectly valid-ish reason for Breakfast Club Boy having a teabag. The same kind of reasoning which means I usually have sachets of coffee in my handbag. What moves it into the realm of abnormal behaviour is the fact that it is leaking.
I cannot help the obvious question, speaking as if I am a Primary School teacher and he has put his PE shorts on backwards. "And why didn't you bin it when it split?"
He smiles as if we are having the most normal conversation in the world. Of course the teabag is still in his pocket.
There is nothing I can do. I take the teabag and return it to the pocket, making sure as I do that I am no longer sitting on the offending area.
It is fair to say that I mostly do not understand boys.