Wednesday, July 29, 2009

A true story

About a month ago I was out for lunch with a friend. As we strolled innocently down the roads around Parson’s Green we were accosted by an old lady needing directions: ‘I need to find X street, my friend lives there you see’ she demanded, pushing me up against a wall with the speed of a ninja.

While I struggled to breathe against her vice like grip, my friend logged on to his BlackBerry and loaded up Google Maps to find the directions she needed. As he carried this out the old lady and I exchanged pleasantries.

“Off somewhere nice?’ I gasped.

“I’m visiting a friend I haven’t seen for many years”, she replied dismissively, stubbing a cigarette out on my cheek.

“Ouch! Oh, how wonderful.”

“Yes, it should be super. Although I haven’t seen her for several years and she doesn’t know I’m coming. I just hope she’s in,” she said, kneeing me in the balls for no apparent reason.

“How’s that map coming along?” I winced.

Soon enough she was given the directions she needed and was on her merry way, leaving me bent double in agony, and my friend somewhat bemused at what I claimed she had done while his back was turned.

As I gained sufficient strength to walk again I couldn’t help but imagine the old woman, arriving at her friends house unannounced, after several years of silence, only to discover from the new occupants that her friend was now sadly deceased, and had been for some years, but her grave was in the nearby churchyard, if she wanted to visit her there.

Seemed like a hell of a risk to take.

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