Turn again

Bus to town this morning very late, giving unknown lady at bus stop ample opportunity to confide all current worries. Make what I hope are helpful suggestions, and we are just boarding bus when she suddenly asks whether I used to be a lawyer. Rather horrified to have been so precisely identified, and vow to be much more mysterious and enigmatic from now on.

Am joined on return journey by rather lost-looking German student, keen to spend day exploring England (she has been in London, but we agree that that is not at all the same thing). Discuss various possible itineraries, I apologise for gloomy weather, and we do our best to spy  typically English sights through misted-up windows.

Take younger son to watch Village Pantomime in evening.  Story, jokes and Dame all comfortingly familiar, lots of enthusiastic song and dance routines,  and plenty of Audience Participation, especially in second half (bar does brisk trade during interval). Congratulate parents, grandparents and everyone else I see, and walk home in crisp cold night singing Chapel of Love. (Son walks ahead.)

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10 thoughts on “Turn again

  1. I am the sort who gets singled out in queues and often hear someone’s life story in four and a half minutes.
    Margaret P

    • Yes, I too always seem to have lengthy personal conversations with complete strangers in all sorts of improbable situations; all part of Life’s Rich Tapestry, I suppose!

  2. Am convinced that England can be viewed authentically only through misted windows of a slightly dated bus accompanied by a voiceover stating that the speaker’s Aunt Betty may or may not have lived in this street in the 1950s.

  3. I used to be a lawyer too, I shall also make sure I am suitably mysterious and enigmatic at all times, thanks for the warning. Glad the bar at the panto did so well. CJ xx

    • How interesting! Very good to discover that we have something else in common. I have already given up on mysterious and enigmatic, though; just aiming now to avoid always being entirely predictable.

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