So I was walking back from White Heat and this guy starts walking next to me, a jolly looking fellow, small-ish, Spanis maybe. He says "Hey mate! I From Eyebeeza! You know Eyebeeza?"
I shake my head.
"You know mate, Eye-bee-za!"
"You mean Ibiza?"
And I'm thinking, is this some druggy tourist? A beggar? A drunken random? And he says "you call me tomorrow!" and then he starts doing this dance, going "You know! Eyebeeza!" and puts his arm around me. And I like shake him off and spread my hands as if to say, "yeah? GET OFF!" in a totally peaceful but firm way.
And I walk on.
And I hear him shouting, "hey mate! this yours?" and I turn around and he's bent over holding my phone as if he'd just found it on the floor. My cheap, shitty, nasty, tiny plasticky phone. And I walk back and say "...yeah..." and he hands it over.
And I realise straight away that he was a pickpocket, that he'd taken my phone, decided he didn't want it, then given it back.
He knew it. He knew I knew it. And I found myself feeling oddly grateful.