Back in the days when smoking was normal, an old pal stopped at the tobacconist to get his fags and morning paper. Queues for, and gets on the bus, upstairs, lights fag, flicks out match, starts reading the paper.
he’s telling the tale in the pub, he’s a very scouse scouser, you can imagine the accent.
”an, you know ’ow the nutter always sits next to yer on the bus? Right, so this bloke sits next to me an leans in close an ses ‘ere mate, do you know your trouser leg’s on fire?’ An I says ‘you wot?’ …. But he was ****’in right!”
apparently, the match had not fully extinguished, had fallen into his turn-up (remember them?) and had ignited the tinder and fluff that had collected, which was smouldering nicely.
”I was late for werk, as I ‘ad to go ‘ome an’ change me keks”
lovely bloke, I wonder where he is now, not seen him for probably 40 years.