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Let me introduce the Friends.
We see them rarely, which is a good thing, but their arrival is never heralded by a fanfare of trumpets. A sullen raspberry from a distant hillside is all they deserve, but the wind is never in the right direction for us to hear it.
Both women are very much pensioners, and I can only thank my lucky stars that they are infrequent visitors, for their journeys to our parade are conducted at the latest time possible - or even after that.
To look at them, one would think of them as prim and proper. To talk to them, one would think of them as vacant. However, they proved the vacancy with sterling abandon this afternoon. Friend A drives, and Friend B gets in the way.
Friend A pulled up and allowed Friend B to get out of the car. Friend B promptly tried to cross the parking area to the shops, and Friend A had to sound her horn because she could not wait for her friend to get out of the way before she parked. Friend B was thwarted, but only for a few moments.
She came into our shop, peering at the meat I was alreayd putting away for the night. "I can see you do meat," she said, gaining several points in IQ, "but do you sell fresh fish?"
"Sorry, but no," I said.
"What fish do you sell?"
"Just frozen haddock," I replied, glancing at the freezer. The Boss had already put the flower display on there, where it spends each night, and he didn't appear in a mood to move it.
"Oh." She pondered this for a moment. "Is that frozen as in cooked?"
"No," I replied, wondering if you could get frozen cooked fish. "I mean frozen as in frozen."
"Oh."
Suitably entertained, I watched as Friend A wandered out to prod the melons. Friend A continued the spectacle by walking over to the bakery, noting the darkened lights, the closed sign, and the locked door, and proceeded to rattle the handle. She peered in, shielded her eyes, and tried to attract attention by calling out "Hello!" a few times.
This didn't work, and we amused ourselves further by watching the bakery's manager rounding a distant corner some hundred yards away, heading for the bus stop. This didn't stop Friend A rattling and calling away. We didn't stop her - she seemed so happy and content.
Friend B had had enough by this point. It was only then that we realised she had shoes on that were two or three sizes too large, and she struggled to keep them on her feet with every step. She was thinking for Friend A, though. She peered at the exit to the car park, and scratching her head at a gap that a blind man could navigate with his guide dog barking once for left and twice for right, asked Friend A if she thought she could get out of there.
Ours was not to reason why, but we did. They didn't.
Rapscallion
We see them rarely, which is a good thing, but their arrival is never heralded by a fanfare of trumpets. A sullen raspberry from a distant hillside is all they deserve, but the wind is never in the right direction for us to hear it.
Both women are very much pensioners, and I can only thank my lucky stars that they are infrequent visitors, for their journeys to our parade are conducted at the latest time possible - or even after that.
To look at them, one would think of them as prim and proper. To talk to them, one would think of them as vacant. However, they proved the vacancy with sterling abandon this afternoon. Friend A drives, and Friend B gets in the way.
Friend A pulled up and allowed Friend B to get out of the car. Friend B promptly tried to cross the parking area to the shops, and Friend A had to sound her horn because she could not wait for her friend to get out of the way before she parked. Friend B was thwarted, but only for a few moments.
She came into our shop, peering at the meat I was alreayd putting away for the night. "I can see you do meat," she said, gaining several points in IQ, "but do you sell fresh fish?"
"Sorry, but no," I said.
"What fish do you sell?"
"Just frozen haddock," I replied, glancing at the freezer. The Boss had already put the flower display on there, where it spends each night, and he didn't appear in a mood to move it.
"Oh." She pondered this for a moment. "Is that frozen as in cooked?"
"No," I replied, wondering if you could get frozen cooked fish. "I mean frozen as in frozen."
"Oh."
Suitably entertained, I watched as Friend A wandered out to prod the melons. Friend A continued the spectacle by walking over to the bakery, noting the darkened lights, the closed sign, and the locked door, and proceeded to rattle the handle. She peered in, shielded her eyes, and tried to attract attention by calling out "Hello!" a few times.
This didn't work, and we amused ourselves further by watching the bakery's manager rounding a distant corner some hundred yards away, heading for the bus stop. This didn't stop Friend A rattling and calling away. We didn't stop her - she seemed so happy and content.
Friend B had had enough by this point. It was only then that we realised she had shoes on that were two or three sizes too large, and she struggled to keep them on her feet with every step. She was thinking for Friend A, though. She peered at the exit to the car park, and scratching her head at a gap that a blind man could navigate with his guide dog barking once for left and twice for right, asked Friend A if she thought she could get out of there.
Ours was not to reason why, but we did. They didn't.
Rapscallion
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