30 Nov 2006
For a while the world was silent.
“I’ve got the number for the Samaritans if you want, dear.”
One of the two old girls walking their pooches past me came forward with what looked like an orange laminated card with writing on it. I lay motionless and, perhaps reasonably, was still considering jumping off cliffs. My camera lay two feet in front of my eyes being sniffed at by an old and decrepit Yorkshire terrier whose hind legs were visibly shaking. Either age or that pooch is about to drown my Olympus in syphilitic dog wizz. Time to arise methunk.
“Thank you. You are very kind to consider my state of brain.”
She pushed the card into my protesting hand, perhaps convinced that the tufts of grass between my knuckles must surely signify a desperate man.
“But I can assure you madam,” as I bent for the camera and righted myself, somewhat unevenly, “It was just the wind.”
“O, I know all about that. Vera there has wind something chronic. Never a quiet moment.” Vera nodded her head at me in what I took to be a reassuring manner.
“No, you don’t understand. A gust of wind almost blew me over, that was all. No need for concern, I’m fine. Really. Here’s your card back.”
She slid it back into the depths of her handbag as she turned towards her friend and dogs. “I don’t know about over but I do know about up. Once Vera had a moment whilst I was feeding the fire…”
“Gosh, is that the time…”
“..no eyebrows for a month.”
“Thanks. Bye then.”