Yesterday evening, I took a taxi from Oxford Street to Clerkenwell, and had the following conversation.
Taxi Driver: Lots of traffic 'cause of the Christmas lights on New Bond Street. They've just switched 'em on.
Me: Oh. What do the lights look like?
TD (giving me a weird look): Like lights.
Me: No, I mean the ones in Regent Street are stars, and the ones on Oxford Street are bells, so...
TD: A bra.
TD: They're a bra. (Makes 'bra' shape with his hands.) And then there's a bit dangling down from the middle of the bra.
Me: Do you think... it might just be you who thinks they look like a bra? The designer probably didn't mean for people to think they were a bra.
TD (huffily): Don't see what else they could be!
Me: I mean, back home, they used to have lights shaped like candles. And there was a flame sputtering out of the end of the candle. But I thought it was something else.
TD (confused): What did you think it was?
Me: Er... you know.
TD: No. What?
Me: Um... a man... weeing.
We sat in silence for the rest of the journey.