Whistles And Honks …

Hi All

 

Just when you thought I was hanging over the loo, throwing up the excess of chocolate love hearts, you are proved wrong and here I am! Ta dah!

I’m late today because I had to trot off into town first thing to get the old locks chopped off. I say trot. That isn’t strictly true – I walked. Yes walked! But I’ll tell you something – I feared for my life. It was only my quick thinking that saved me from ending up a statistic.

About half-way into  town, there is a bridge over the old railway line and the footpath is roughly a foot wide. So you have the brick arch one side, the busy road the other and a tiny narrow path on which to balance. I was a little way from the bridge and I suddenly heard a clicking noise. After confirming to myself that it wasn’t my hip clicked out of joint, I carried on.

The click, click, click, click was still behind me. I turned my head very slightly as I walked and my left eye caught sight of a man following me. The bridge with the titchy path was getting nearer and nearer and the click, click, click, was also getting nearer.

And suddenly I had this very irrational thought – what if I was half-way across the bridge and this person caught me up and hurled me into the road and under a passing HGV. Yes, I know. Doubtful. Ridiculous. Bloody stupid idea. But these things happen.

You might have all been watching tonight’s news and there I’d be – what was left of me. A flattened scrap on the road, having had my mobile nicked and my money stolen. All that would be distinguishable would be the fur (imitation) trim from round the edge of my hood. People would just assume that a cat had ended its life in the middle of the road. No one would know that a kind, dear, harmless, struggling author, who really needs people to buy her books, had been pushed to her death by an inconsiderate pig who wanted to walk faster than her across the bridge …

I stopped dead. No way was this person going to do that to me. I turned to him and said, with a smile, ‘Ah, you go first, you’re walking faster than me!’ He gave me a weird look, like I was nuts and muttered, ‘Huh?’ I caught his breath and it wasn’t pleasant. He definitely needed to get some of those nicotine patch things and quit that smoking habit – or swill his rancid chops with a pint of Listerine before he ventures out in public!  Anyway, he went on ahead of me and I followed at a safe distance.

You truly can’t trust anyone these days. I think I had a lucky escape. And what if the HGV HADN’T run over my head? I would have been lying there with bad hair!! Not even a good-looking, tidy corpse!

I wobbled on, past the traffic lights and along the path where new houses are being built. I was a bit distracted because I’m supposed to be going to my writers’ group tonight. I was a founder member – and then I left for seven years because I didn’t like one of the up-her-own-posterior-types who frequented said group.

I can’t stand big-headed people and especially those that bull themselves up and then have the God damned nerve to believe it. Oh! How mad do they make me?

Back to the path.

I was walking along, practising in my head what I was going to say tonight to explain why I hadn’t been to the group recently and why I was the only one who hadn’t seen fit to do the ‘assignment,’ AGAIN, when a wolf whistle pierced my  ears. I didn’t turn to look at the workmen immediately, that would have been too presumptuous and I’m not THAT easy.  I took another couple of strides and just as I was about to turn their way and flash them a beguiling (grateful) smile, this greyhound shot past me faster than pooh off a shovel, followed by its idiotic owner, holding a slipped collar and lead in his hand! Why don’t people make sure their dog’s collars are on properly? Actually, I had to giggle, because there was no way that short, fat owner was ever going to catch THAT dog. Which lead me to doubt my age-old belief that dogs are like their owners. It ain’t necessarily so!

My hairdresser seemed pleased to see me. I always feel a bit of a slob though because she says things like, ‘So, what have you been up to?’ And at that point I have to admit to her,  and myself, that other than mess around on the computer, bake a few cakes and have a few rants at Richard – not much. But that’s OK isn’t it?  Life doesn’t HAVE to be complicated, does it?

I know you won’t believe this and quite frankly neither did I, after having my confidence shattered previously with the workmen who DIDN’T wolf-whistle me, but on the way back, this white flat-bed truck whizzed past and actually honked!! My first thought was – is that harassment! Stalking! Should I get the truck’s number?

I did glance round briefly just in case that bloody greyhound was in the middle of the road.

 

Take care my lovelies xmull

 

 

http://www.feedaread.com/books/Mulligans-Reach-9781782991700.aspx

 

 

 

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10 thoughts on “Whistles And Honks …

  1. It’s not paranoia if they are following you. I hate people walking behind me, hate cigarettes and hate hairdresser expectation! I hate honkers too, I think it’s called spinning, because they honk to make you spin round or something. Idiots! As you can see I’m brimming with Valentine’s Day spirit too…

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    • Valentine’s Day huh! It’s like Christmas Day – everyone is filled with love for one day. What about the rest of the year? You and I have a lot in common my friend. Perhaps we should start a blog where we can just rant and burst everyone’s pretty balloons? Oh dear, I’m sure our day will get better – or not. At least Richard has just gone to work and won’t be back till 10.00 tonight. But I did make him a chocolate heart-shaped cake. A moment of weakness ha ha x

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      • Too cynical to bake…besides I have no giant lumbering about the house until midnight and I have 8 books waiting to be read and reviewed, which take precedence over romance. We’ve definitely hit the grumpy woman stage of our relationship, or have we always been here?

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  2. all said and done, the description of that bridge and its sorties, had it been published by Penguin or the likes, would’ve got you a long-list to a literary award. Keep at it lady, it’s paranoia that gets a bookah-to-ya!

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