big

Big M here.

Have had an interesting call following last week’s post. It all started when Mrs M answered the phone (which is where interesting calls usually begin). ‘Of course, Foodge, dear, if things are too much for you, then hop on the train and M will pick you up.’

‘What?’

‘Who’s in the car?’

‘You had better speak to M.’

‘Sorry, you’ve got who in the Zephyr?’ That’s me speaking.

‘Merv’s mum, look I’m calling whilst filling the petrol tank, and I’m afraid the iPhone might set off an explosion.’ Foodge sounded desperate.

‘That’s bullshit, Foodge, no one has ever proven that, anyhoo, where are you driving her?’ I wasn’t that interested, but, you know me, feigned fascination with the story.

‘She wants to go to the Pigs Arms.’

‘Well, that’s OK, they’ve got rooms galore.’ By this stage I was looking at Facebook.

‘No, but she can’t meet Granny?’ Foodge sounded exasperated.

‘Why not, Granny’s a nice old chick, and pretty buff by your accounts.’

‘Granny has vowed that if she ever meets Merv’s mother she’ll kill her. Granny’s got the speed, but you should see this thing, it’s a BIG unit.’ Foodge was so excited that he had spilled a cuppla litres of fuel on the forecourt.

‘What the fuck do you want me to do?’ I tried to keep things light.

‘Couldn’t you take her for a couple of days?’ I could hear Foodge trying to wash the petrol from the side of the Zephyr with that dirty water that is there to wash the car windows.

‘Foodge, you know that petrol isn’t soluble in water.’

‘Don’t baffle me with science. What am I going to do?’ Foodge sounded more desperate.

‘What about Hedgie, or Emmjay, or the Bowling Ladies?  Knowing full well that these folk lead full, interesting lives, and won’t want to be encumbered with some old hag.

‘No way, I’ve already rung around. Can’t you take her?’

Now, sometimes you know you’re making a mistake, before you even take action, usually it’s one drink too many, or perhaps a kiss that shouldn’t have been proffered. I suddenly found myself saying. ‘That’s OK mate, put her on the Flyer, I’ll pick her up in the Zephyr.’

That was last Thursday. Since then it’s been, ‘no, not like that’, ‘don’t you lazy people iron your sheets?’ ‘Can’t we go for a drive?’, ‘not another bloody pub meal’

I’m quietly looking at the train timetable as we speak!