So there I was, minding my own business, in the smoking section at the Wimpy, that haven of sanity in an otherwise hectic Hypermarket By The Sea. It's a trade-off with my dearest wife; she does the shopping and, as I'm too busy eating grease and reading the Sunday papers, I can't distract her from the all-important administration of domestic supplies. Well, it wasn't a haven of sanity for long.
As the wife disappeared into the realm of frantic retail horror, a nutter sitting across from me suddenly perked up. No spring chicken, he must have been about 40. With lank, greasy hair and a crazy eye (which kinda reminded me of...oh, who was it again?), he spotted his victim, licked his lips in anticipation and shot out at me these perspicacious words:
'Always better with the sound off, eh?'
To which I whinnied quietly as I scanned the exits. I knew he meant the TV, but kept shtum. Didn't put him off, of course. He ordered another tea '...with six sugars, eh?' and rolled on regardless...
'Because I always find people talk more, you know?' (This, at volume. Heads are turning. Forks, halfway to their mark and laden with bacon, are hovering in midair.)
And then comes the deluge:
'You know, it's in Revelations, hey? You know Revelations - where it says that all of this is against the will of God. You know. Too many people in the world, man, I mean - you know there's 7.5 billion people, now, hey? Now if they all have one baby, that's 7.5 billion more. And then if they all have two babies? That's right! 15 billion people! Now where will we find the resources? ANOTHER PLANET! Revelations!'

And then, through a cloud of Marlboro and fright, my domestic goddess appeared, wreathed in the white light of salvation.

He was still muttering when we left him. Only now it was to his mother, who was asking if he wanted another tea...

Close one, that.