There are these two men digging a large hole in the pavement, just a few yards from the bus stop where I am waiting (story of my life) for the bus.
They are busy installing new street lights in this and, it seems, every road in the whole town. You simply can’t move for barriers and deep holes, wherever you go. Mr B says the replacement street lights are much reduced
in size and only half as bright as the old ones and gloomily predicts that There Will Be Trouble Ahead. We sing a song about that at choir on Fridays. I suspect there is an answer to his complaint and it may well be something to do with global warning
but I don’t feel sufficiently qualified to argue the point.
Anyway, getting back to the men in the hole in the pavement. I am watching them at work, fascinated
by the thought that this might be an excellent career for Youg Faris, the Demolition Expert, when he grows up, involving as it does, much digging and delving, getting extremely dirty and throwing about great clumps of mud (that most excellent of mucky stuff)
so that unsuspecting foot passengers trip up on them.
At this point, both men start waving at me. I am a little startled, wondering whether perhaps they
have mistaken me for someone a third of my age. Unlikely though that seems. I hesitate, trying to decide whether to wave back or whether this might be seen as accepting an invitation to join them in the hole in the road for builder’s tea and a Rich Tea
biscuit. The two men have now taken to gesticulating wildly and yelling something incomprehensible at me. Which is when I realise that the bus is bearing down on me and, with my attention elsewhere, I am in grave danger of failing to flag it down. I
do a smart about turn and manage to stick my arm out in a haphazard fashion. The bus screeches to a stop in the middle of the road and I climb aboard with a grin and a wave of thanks to lighting engineers. It was an Act of Random Kindness and I thank
them for it.
After choir, we gather in the coffee bar and have a spirited argument about Facebook. I tell the story of my son’s win in the caption
competition (see yesterday’s blog) and am horrified when a fellow chorister accuses me (and the 270 other people who voted for My Boy) of cheating because we voted for the person and not the actual caption. Those who know me will understand how distressing
such an accusation this was for me, who never, ever cheats at anything, even Solitaire. Our friend Roland buys me a fruit scone as a gesture of support and sympathy.
Tomorrow I am off to see Team Baldwin in their latest production, one of my favourite musicals, “Cats”. Lots of the family and extended family are attending either the matinee or the evening performance. The Middle of the Darling Daughters
is watching the matinee leaving her younger sister and me in charge of Young Faris. I have warned the Youngest of the Darling Daughters that she will need to Faris-proof her home before he arrives. I am thinking of all those beautiful family photos and
ornaments which decorate the window sills all around the conservatory. Plus the DVDs on the table under the TV set and the exciting wall units, full of fascinating “stuff” like place mats and baskets full of pencils and other paraphernalia. Young
Faris will have a field day.
My daughter is unperturbed. She says we will just have to take him to the park where he surely can’t get into too much mischief.
Wouldn’t that be cheating? I ask her, mindful of the Accusing One. She asks me if I have any better ideas but I can’t think of any.
(aka the Duracell Bunny because he never, ever stops)is the complete opposite of his cousin. He is an ace tidier, who takes enormous pleasure in putting jigsaw puzzle pieces into the Book Box and books into the puzzle boxes. He is, however,
not averse to getting down and dirty, if required.
If they ever find themselves in a hole in the ground, my two Littlest Boys will make a great team...