"I wouldn't describe myself as a misanthrope, but as I get older if I spend a week in company then I require the same amount of time in isolation to readdress the balance..."
The barrier finally lifted and the Old Boy pulled away. Twenty yards after the rail tracks is the junction onto the A49. There was nothing coming, but Pops played his waiting game. Finally a shiny new Volvo came around the corner and just as it was passing Ma and Pa, their little red vehicle pulled out and belted it in the passenger side, careering it across the road. Holy shit methinks....
The Volvo righted itself and carried on another 50 yards before eventually pulling to the side of the A49. The little red vehicle pulled up behind it, with me behind them both. I was the first out of the cars. I ran up to the Volvo and saw a fella in his late fifties struggling to get out. He was struggling because he was disabled, his right hand was almost turned completely back on itself and his body shape was all off to the left. He didn’t look particularly distressed, in fact he looked incredibly serene. I liked him. I threw a glance back to the Old Boy who was now exiting his idiot little car.
“Sir, you need to stop driving and consider some other form of transport, you coulda killed this gentleman.” I amazed myself at my composure, I hated the silly old fucker. He’d delayed me on the hill, sent my blood pressure up another few notches at the barrier and now was intent on a one man killing spree!
“What happened? My wife said it was clear....” he pleaded.
His wife... good grief... It turned out the disabled guy in the Volvo was on his way to hospital. His mother was in the passenger seat and suffered with Alzheimer's. The front of his car was trashed and he was upset. If it had to go away for repairs, he’d have no form of transport to ferry his ageing mother around, because the Volvo had been modified for his disabilities. I woulda handed him the keys to the old boy’s little red thing had this not been the case.
The old boy muttered and reprimanded his wife, Joan, for walking too close to the road. He began asking me if the police needed to be involved, to which I responded in a much less benevolent manner. They swapped insurance details, I called the hospital to let them know the Volvo’s passenger would be late for her appointment, gave them my details in case they needed a witness and went on about my business.
What was my business....? Oh yeah, a quiet day in the countryside.
I strolled around the little supermarket in town, noticing that Twix now do a bite size, not as good as the KitKat bites, but no great disappointment all the same. As I queued with my basket I encountered another elder couple, faffing about at something that could’ve waited until I was safely home. The Mrs. headed toward the magazine rack, looking uncannily like Molly Sugden and as soon as she was out of earshot her husband asked the kid on the till for some cashback. Apparently the card that he’d offered up didn’t ‘do’ cashback and the cashier said it so loud that Molly heard,
“You don’t need cash back, why do you want cash? You’ve got enough!” she howled at him from the magazine rack.
Poor fucker.... humiliated in the local shop, for all to see. I imagined him making secret trips to the bookies or the pub. Not today my friend. Not today.
As they departed the cashier and I rolled our eyes and laughed. A lady behind me said,
“You’ll all be that old one day!” she reprimanded.
“I certainly hope not,” I responded “Gimme a diet of wine, fags, chocolate and cheese and may The Gods take me early!”.
On arriving home my neighbour was in our yard with a huge fishing net, attempting to catch an injured bird. It looked like a hell of a job, too much energy required.
I’m seriously thinking of heading back to the city for a nice rest…
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