Sometimes the world is such a very different place to the world of my youth that it takes me by surprise. Young people seem to have some very astonishing adventures that I can’t even begin to imagine happening to my youthful self.
I picked two girls up very late last night who wanted to go to Kendal, which is about ten miles away.
They said that they would like to make a short stop in Bowness on the way to collect a friend, so we duly pulled up outside the Co-op whilst they rang their friend to tell him that they were waiting.
It took a while.
After about six pounds worth of waiting time a young man appeared out of the nearby flats, rubbing his eyes and wearing nothing but a very small pair of underpants and a tattoo proclaiming that he was a dirty boy.
The girls rolled down the window and squeaked that he had said that he wanted to come back to Kendal with them, and what was he doing?
He looked them up and down – they were very pretty – and after a moment or two said simply: “Okay,” and got in.
Of course I eavesdropped like mad on the subsequent conversation, and associated excited giggles: during which it became apparent that he had met them in the pub earlier on, promised them the time of their lives, and then got drunk, forgotten and gone home to bed, foolishly leaving them with his phone number.
It was also painfully obvious that he could not remember either of their names.
I took them to Kendal and left them there together, at the home of one of the girls whose parents were conveniently away on holiday. I contemplated giving him a card with a taxi number on it, but since he had no phone, no money and no pocket to put it in I didn’t bother and left him to his fate.
It must have been a fairly spectacular walk of shame this morning. I hope her parents didn’t decide to come home early. I do like seeing young people getting on with their lives. I am so glad I have grown up.
Apart from that it was a fairly quiet night. The dog is still not recovered and we have given him a hopeful dose of laxatives, which is what the hospital did with Lucy when she was a baby and swallowed a five pence piece. This worked in the end, which was a good job, because she shrieked her head off with tummy ache for several days, and wouldn’t shut up unless Number One Daughter was with her. I was more pleased about this than Number One Daughter was, I have never been very good at sick children unless they are the limp and sleepy kind and think the red-faced bellowing sort are better off just given plenty of tranquilising drugs and encouraged to go to sleep.
Anyway, this meant that we had to leave the back door open again when we went to work, because it is not a good idea to give your dog a large quantity of laxative medicine and then lock him in for the day on top of your beautiful beige and cream wool carpet: so I hope there are no burglars wandering about Windermere. If there are I hope they look where they are walking, especially on their way in.
This is an issue which is playing on my mind a bit, not the potential burglar, obviously, but the possible consequences of the laxatives working unexpectedly, and the dog not making it to the door in time. We are at work, and unusually I do not feel any great hurry to go home. It is quite possible that a very unpleasant surprise is waiting.
A bit like being parents coming home early from their holidays, maybe.
