A Big Black Car
Episode 146, Jan 09, 11:00 AM
The Grand, is obsessed with cars. He lamented the lack of cars in this house. He’s not bothered about reverting to the use of my bus pass, but rather the lack of toy cars to be lined up on the kitchen floor for me to break my ankle on.
In this desert of motoring delights, he was extremely impressed to watch a large black car pull up outside his house to whisk me, and my suitcase, away to my next fun packed appointment. I know this because he immediately reported the event to his Father, my Son, on his return home from work, a journey made on a bus. He would have been beside himself if he had seen what had happened next.
After a fun filled afternoon, another large black car turned up to drive me to within a matter of feet of my sofa, a spot I was already dreaming of.
“Ma’m,” said my driver. “Ma’m, this is your time. You just relax now and enjoy the journey.” I lay back and shut my eyes.
“Do you need a phone charger Ma’m?”
“No thanks. I’m all sorted,” I said.
“Do you need water Ma’m”
“I’ve got some, but thankyou.” Then I settled back.
“That’s right Ma’m. This is your time now. You just go ahead and do your thing.”
“Thankyou. I think I’ll just go to sleep,” I said.
There was a very short pause.
“Ma’m, are you quite well?”
“Just tired. I think I’ll have a sleep,” I said without so much as a twitch.
“Well this is your time now Ma’m. You just relax.”
I didn’t reply.
“I can see you are tired, so you just go ahead Ma’m,” he said.
There was a very brief pause.
“Do you do this journey a lot Ma’m?”
“I usually take the train,” I mumbled.
“I can see you are tired. Is that why you are taking a car? Or are you unwell?”
“I’ve getting over cancer,” I snarled.
There was no pause at all.
“I’m sorry to hear that Ma’m. My dog has got a kidney infection. If anything happened to him, it would be a tragedy. People are people. They get sick. They die. I tell you what Ma’m. I love that hound. If anything happened to him I don’t know what we would do.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” It’s not all about me after all I thought.
“Thank you Ma’m. I appreciate that. We’ve had him since he was a puppy. He’s not even old.”
I reflected that I don’t see myself as old. He might think I am old and so there is not a lot of tragedy in a spot of cancer, but from where I am sitting I should like to think my odds are better than his hounds.
“I tell you what Ma’m, every day, I measure how much he drinks and how much comes out the other end and every week I take him to the vet. He’s costing me a fortune but I love him. Do you have family Ma’m?”
“I do,” I said, thinking about the Grand, who refused to give me a kiss goodbye since I was leaving and not arriving. “I’m just going to have a sleep.”
“That’s right Ma’m. This is your time now. Take no notice of me.”
“I’m closing my eyes,” I said.
“You do what you need to do. It’s your time now Ma’m. You must look after yourself. I expect that your family would want you to do that. If anything happened to my dog, I don’t know how we’d go on. You just relax. I’ve got this.”
I stayed stoically silent. I’m only human after all.
END
Follow the Blind Truth Blog here: https://theblindtruth.co.uk/
Image is Siobhain Santry's sketch of Anna.
In this desert of motoring delights, he was extremely impressed to watch a large black car pull up outside his house to whisk me, and my suitcase, away to my next fun packed appointment. I know this because he immediately reported the event to his Father, my Son, on his return home from work, a journey made on a bus. He would have been beside himself if he had seen what had happened next.
After a fun filled afternoon, another large black car turned up to drive me to within a matter of feet of my sofa, a spot I was already dreaming of.
“Ma’m,” said my driver. “Ma’m, this is your time. You just relax now and enjoy the journey.” I lay back and shut my eyes.
“Do you need a phone charger Ma’m?”
“No thanks. I’m all sorted,” I said.
“Do you need water Ma’m”
“I’ve got some, but thankyou.” Then I settled back.
“That’s right Ma’m. This is your time now. You just go ahead and do your thing.”
“Thankyou. I think I’ll just go to sleep,” I said.
There was a very short pause.
“Ma’m, are you quite well?”
“Just tired. I think I’ll have a sleep,” I said without so much as a twitch.
“Well this is your time now Ma’m. You just relax.”
I didn’t reply.
“I can see you are tired, so you just go ahead Ma’m,” he said.
There was a very brief pause.
“Do you do this journey a lot Ma’m?”
“I usually take the train,” I mumbled.
“I can see you are tired. Is that why you are taking a car? Or are you unwell?”
“I’ve getting over cancer,” I snarled.
There was no pause at all.
“I’m sorry to hear that Ma’m. My dog has got a kidney infection. If anything happened to him, it would be a tragedy. People are people. They get sick. They die. I tell you what Ma’m. I love that hound. If anything happened to him I don’t know what we would do.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” It’s not all about me after all I thought.
“Thank you Ma’m. I appreciate that. We’ve had him since he was a puppy. He’s not even old.”
I reflected that I don’t see myself as old. He might think I am old and so there is not a lot of tragedy in a spot of cancer, but from where I am sitting I should like to think my odds are better than his hounds.
“I tell you what Ma’m, every day, I measure how much he drinks and how much comes out the other end and every week I take him to the vet. He’s costing me a fortune but I love him. Do you have family Ma’m?”
“I do,” I said, thinking about the Grand, who refused to give me a kiss goodbye since I was leaving and not arriving. “I’m just going to have a sleep.”
“That’s right Ma’m. This is your time now. Take no notice of me.”
“I’m closing my eyes,” I said.
“You do what you need to do. It’s your time now Ma’m. You must look after yourself. I expect that your family would want you to do that. If anything happened to my dog, I don’t know how we’d go on. You just relax. I’ve got this.”
I stayed stoically silent. I’m only human after all.
END
Follow the Blind Truth Blog here: https://theblindtruth.co.uk/
Image is Siobhain Santry's sketch of Anna.