You are very lucky I’m here this morning (?) because I could have so easily been whisked away by a handsome stranger and now living the high life in the south of France. How? Why? I hear you ask, well…
I need to give you a little bit of ‘back story’ first.
I trotted off for my physio appointment at eight, with Doreen, a lovely lady. At least, she is now. When we first met she was very quiet and frankly, seemed rather wary of me. I can’t imagine why. But we have now had five sessions together and rabbit on like old friends. She tells me how much weight she has lost (I don’t – because I haven’t lost any! Well who would, sitting here all day editing a novel and writing this stuff?) and I tell her about…pretty much anything. My ramblings are not limited to social networking, I ramble in real life too. Our conversations know no boundaries as I sit with the four tingly pad things on my neck – the ones which feel like a million little spider legs playing on my neck. We decided to stretch out my next appointment to a month’s time so I won’t be chatting with Doreen next week, which is a shame because she’s sweet. However…
I then popped to a cheapo shop to see if I could get some printer paper. I could have bought a billion Christmas tree decorations and a plastic Santa who had the smile of a serial killer, but no printer paper. So I deviated to Morrison’s, where I purchased the winning lottery numbers (?) three bananas, a crusty loaf, and a mountain of food for Chea. Going back to the three bananas…what is it with bananas these days? I can never, ever, eat a whole banana without a part of it being bad. Their spines go black and they are inedible if you don’t eat them within two/three days. Hence…three bananas.
I spent quite a while looking through the magazines, especially the likes of ‘What Computer’ etc. I have a mind to buy a tablet. No, not paracetamol or ibuprofen, as you very well know. I can’t really justify buying one but I thought it might be nice to have one for when I’m slobbing in front of the fire, half watching the soaps at night? Whatever, it’s a thought in progress. No doubt I’ll have a rush of blood to the head at some stage and dash off, desperate to own one.
So…and this is the point I’m getting around to making, before me at the checkout was a man. A silver-haired fox. A little short, but you can’t have everything and he had two sections of items. In the first section were party poppers, balloons and all things party-ish. In the next section he had two magazines. Boat Owner and Yachting. He also had no wedding ring twinkling away – not that I really looked. He was a jolly soul (a big plus in my world) and grinned and passed a few words with the cashier. I edged a bit nearer, pushing my two reams of printer paper further along the conveyor belt, ready to inform him that I was a writer and needed the paper for my work. This, I felt sure, would impress him. Unfortunately he didn’t appear to notice said paper.
When he glanced my way I jumped in. ‘Having a party on your boat, hey? The one docked in the south of France?’ Yes, I said docked. I meant moored but I thought I was being so funny that I didn’t stop to think what I was saying, a major flaw in my personality!
He turned my way and laughed. I think he was laughing at my wit and not at me but I’ll never be sure. ‘I wish,’ he said.
‘Now, now,’ I said, ‘you don’t have to lie. You don’t have to invite us if you don’t want to.’ I included the cashier in the invite. Well it seemed only fair.
‘Ha ha,’ he said, bagging-up his party-poppers. ‘Actually, I do have a boat. I’ve just bought it but I haven’t taken delivery of it yet.’
‘There you go,’ I said, ‘and is it being MOORED in the south of France?’
‘Ha ha,’ he said, ‘I wish.’
‘You’ll be able to drive it over the sea to France,’ our friendly and lovely lady cashier said, even less familiar with boat speak than me.
‘Oh I think that’s a bit far for me,’ he said.
I may have been going off this bloke a bit at this point, because frankly, where was his spirit of adventure? Where was his ‘Captain Jack’ attitude of keeping a weather-eye on the horizon? What was all this, “I wish.” It smacked to me of a chap who spent most of his life wishing and hoping but not doing. However, I was prepared to overlook this….and the biro streaks on the outside of his grey suit’s pocket where he had obviously attempted to pocket his biro with the top off, missed and marked his suit. At least he was wearing a suit…in Morrison’s…at eight-thirty in the morning!
He flashed a few more smiles our way and then he took his leave.
‘What a lovely, happy man,’ I said to Joan (name badge pinned to her left breast) ‘What a friendly soul…and I bet he has got a boat in the south of France.’
‘Yes,’ she said, struggling with my printer paper.
‘Or a rowing boat down on the canal,’ I guffawed.
‘Yes,’ she said.
‘Anyway,’ I said, handing over the money, ‘I’ll see if I can catch him up in the car park!’
As I scooted off Joan shouted, ‘If you do…don’t forget me!’
‘I won’t,’ I shouted back over my shoulder.
Obviously he’d gone.
Oh well, poor sweet Richard will have to put up with me for a bit longer. I get sick-sea anyway. And here’s another little gem…I know why seagulls follow those boats which take the public on sea trips because I’ve been there and I’ve done it. When you hang your head over the side of the boat and yack-up your stomach contents the little darlings move in for….well you know…you get the gruesome picture. This was something I discovered on my one and only boat excursion to the Isle of Lundy, on – and I quote, from the most un Captain Jack-like bod I have ever seen in my life – “the worst crossing so far this year.” I thought I was in that movie, ‘The Perfect Storm.’ Slightly worrying seeing how none of them survived, including George Clooney.
Oh yes me hearties I’ve done it all, and on second thoughts, the silver-haired fox with his biro stained pocket is welcome to his life on the ocean waves.
Take care my lovelies x