Tales from the Islington doorstep.

by

The door had garlic hanging above it, which is always a clue of mentalism. We were not disappointed.

“Yes?” says the resident opening his door, a man of Chinese extraction.

“Sorry to bother you. We are calling round on behalf of the local Labour Party. This is one your councillors.”

“Labour? I vote National Front! I’m fed up with the Muslims blowing things up! Hahahaha. But good luck!”

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