Tuesday Tale – Talking With A Stranger

I crossed over to the other side of the road. I wanted to go to Boots, but I was too embarrassed to walk past the man sitting in that doorway with a thin blanket over his shoulders. The other day he was asking for money. Shoppers passed by saying they did not have any cash on them, probably true, but a good excuse these days. I do carry money; I’m always smug when the computers have gone down and they’re only taking cash. Then there is the craft fair and Sam my Big Issue man… No, I wasn’t going to feel guilty, I always buy a Big Issue and we gave some money to Crisis at Christmas, they held out a life line for Barry’s brother Dean, though he didn’t take it. That’s why Barry always says ‘Don’t give them any money, they could help themselves if they wanted to, look at our Dean, brought everything  on himself. How many times did we bail him out?’

Only once as far as I remember, but I just let him witter on. Still, he’s right it’s better to give to the people who can help properly. But I still feel guilty when I see huddled figures.

The next day I had a good excuse for staying on the other side of the road. I had a big parcel to take to the post office for my sister’s birthday. As I shouldered my way through the post office door I heard a voice. It was him again, leaning against the lamppost, holding out an empty takeaway cup hopefully. I had my hands full, my purse was tucked away in my back pack. I mumbled ‘seeifgotanchnagewayout.’

For what the parcel cost to send I could have bought him a meal at Wetherspoons up the road. I had put some change in my pocket, but I knew we were also supposed to make homeless people feel human, not ignored, what on earth could I say? I edged out of the door shielding beside a fat man, aiming to go in the opposite direction from the pitiful man. But I heard him speak. I looked around hoping he was talking to someone else, like a Salvation Army person or a homeless mate. But any other shoppers had melted away. It was just me and him. Him staring at me with strangely deep eyes. Why couldn’t he go and sell the Big Issue, or go and get help, the help the council proclaimed was available.

‘Why do you ignore me?’

‘Er um, I don’t… I don’t know.’

‘Why don’t you listen to me.’

My mouth was dry, I undid my scarf, took my hat off, felt my face flushing.

Why did he have to pick on me?

‘Er how are you getting on?’

‘Not bad considering, my family were awful this time, not like last time. My first parents were kind and loving, I had fun with my younger brothers and sisters… ‘

‘Did you get adopted?’

He did not seem to hear my question.

‘We decided, the three of us, that I should be brought up in a dreadful family, family is hardly a word you would apply to the dysfunctional adults I was with. Anyway, it was decided I should have all the disadvantages so I/We would really know what it is like to be a human.’

I felt tingles down my spine. ‘Oh my God, are you an alien?’

‘No, the first name you said, taken in vain like most people do.’

Of course he was obviously on something, I should just walk away, if Barry could see me now he would think me so stupid for even thinking…

I walked briskly down the road, into Sainsburys with normality around me. But I thought of those penetrating eyes and what he had said. There came to me some vague memory of Sunday school stories when Mum was in her Christian phase. Jesus coming again, how would he appear, would anyone believe him. What were those discussions we had that time I went on a teen camp. I thought it was for camping fun and trampolining, but turned out they wanted to convert us. My parents had not realised it was a strange sect.

‘Will you turn your back on Him when he comes again?’ they asked us.

 At night in our six person tents, my friend Julie had us all giggling, making fun of them, bringing us back to normal.

But what if it was true, was I as bad as Peter or even Judas?

I did not tell Barry all this, he would just laugh. But I had a plan. What could be the harm in talking to Him, call him out, see if he was just mad. Before I got on the bus for work, I would see if he was there.

He was not in any doorways, but as it started raining and I dashed to the bus shelter, he was there. Upright, in normal clothes.

‘Hello Sandra.’

‘How do you know my name?’ I stuttered.

‘The advantage of being Omniscient.’

‘Don’t you mean Omnipotent?’ I decided to play him at his own mind games.

‘That as well.’

‘Look, the bus is going to come along at any moment.’

‘I know.’

‘I have to go to work, so can you just tell me, are you actually saying that you are God.’

‘If that is what you call me in Surbiton, yes.’

‘As in have you come down to Earth again, after all this time?’

‘It doesn’t seem that long, but yes.’

His eyes looked so kind and gentle, not scary, I decided to be bold.

‘So why not come back as a woman this time?’

‘Because women still aren’t listened to? Does Bary listen to you?’

This had to be some kind of trick, someone who knew me and Barry…

I trembled. ‘Look, I don’t think you should be hard on us, all of us. How are we supposed to know the truth about the universe and everything, the scientists keep telling us different things.’

‘You are not supposed to know. How could you possibly understand?’

‘Oh that’s a relief in a way. Do you know how big the universe is, or how many there are … and do you know what is going on out there in infinity?’

‘Of course, the advantage of being omnipresent.’

At that moment my bus came along and I stepped on board, turning to wave goodbye, but he was gone. I went up on the top deck, sat at the back to think. Looked out of the window to try and spot him, but the rain had got too heavy to see properly.

Was he mad or was I. But could it be true, was He true. If He was, would anyone believe me? Probably a whole host of nutters, as Barry would say.

Tuesday Tale -Kitchen Sink Drama

Abigail scrolled down the screen impatiently, then she spotted it, her dream flat. She wrote down the details in her notebook in case it vanished off the screen, she had heard how properties could be snapped up quickly, on sale one moment, gone the next. But she had no idea how to book a viewing if the estate agent was on line with no office to visit or human to phone. Luckily Phillip would be round soon.

Character ground floor apartment in lively area, would suit first time buyer. Hardly the sort of thing you want Mother, I’ve booked viewings for several ideal places, but … there we are booked, viewing tomorrow afternoon after the others. We can always cancel if you find one more suitable.’

‘Certainly not, I have a good feeling about this place.’

‘Okay, but you need to be sure, we don’t want to go through all this again.’

‘You mean this is to be my final home?’

‘No, I mean…’

‘I hope it will be, the alternatives would be far worse.’

Soon after lunch the next day Phillip pulled up outside huge gates.

‘Is this a prison?’

‘No of course not, it’s an up market gated community for the eld… people who want to enjoy their retirement.’

‘Not my idea of enjoyment.’

‘It’s got nice gardens and a fountain…’

‘Drive on.’

He handed her a leaflet about the next destination. A smug, sun tanned, fit, mature couple beamed out at her. Oak Dene, luxury apartments for the young at heart and Acorn Grove for those who need that little bit of extra support.  On the estate we have a sports hall and community complex.

‘Hmp, bet that couple wouldn’t dream of setting foot in there and nor would I.’

‘Don’t dismiss it out of hand, lots of company and there’s a bus stop outside to get to our place.’

Abigail looked at her watch. ‘We need to get to my place next, I don’t want another buyer turning up before me.’

Phillip’s frown grew deeper as the Satnav led him down a rundown shopping street then through a maze of small roads.

‘Nearly there… a primary school round the corner, you won’t want to be living in this area.’

‘I love the sound of children in the playground.’

‘But not all the time.’

‘Same town as you and Sandra, isn’t that the plan?’

‘But this is the wrong side of town.’

‘Looks fine to me and lots of interesting little shops.’

‘What on earth would you want with a tattoo parlour and a vape shop?’

When they reached their destination they were both confused.

‘Busy road, can’t see 32B, unless it’s that weird construction that looks like it’s been squeezed in as an afterthought.’

‘Yes, it is, come on, squeeze into that parking space, is that the agent, didn’t look like that when your father and I were house hunting.’

‘Good afternoon, um who is the property for?’

‘Me of course, I hope it’s as good inside as the pictures on your flashy website.’

‘Even better’ the young man flashed a set of white teeth.

‘We have lots of other places to look at’ said Phillip.

The agent ushered them into the tiny hall with a flourish.

‘Kitchen at the front, kitchen sink under the window, you won’t want that Mother.’

‘It’s perfect.’

‘But it’s too small, not even room for a dishwasher.’

‘I won’t need one, I’m not planning on having visitors for dinner.’

The agent smiled. ‘And the guest bedroom is also at the front.’

‘You could not fit a bed in here.’

‘I don’t need to, this is my office, or will be hopefully, how many other buyers have looked?’

‘A lot.’

‘Oh dear, how many offers?’

‘None.’

‘Not surprised’ sniffed Phillip.

‘Now to the main bedroom and lounge which both have French doors out onto the bijou garden.’

‘Oh it’s perfect, south facing as well.’

‘Facing a school by the look and sound of it.’

‘Yes, just a little primary school, but there is a good fence and when that tree is in leaf it will muffle the sound.’

‘Sorry, we won’t waste your time any more, this is totally un..’

‘Perfectly suitable, I’ll be in touch very soon with my offer.’

‘We’ll discuss it and get back to you, come on Mother.’

Back in the car Phillip said ‘Don’t be disappointed, we have plenty more we can look at.’

‘I don’t need to, this is the one.’

‘But that school, balls coming over the fence.’

‘I’ll throw them back again.’

Abigail stood at her kitchen sink looking out at all the toing and froing. Next door was herding her children out the front door, late for school as usual. She had confided to Abigail that the nearer they lived to a school the harder it was to get there on time.

That white car was there again, number 32 told her it was always there when the husband was away. The chap from round the corner waved as he walked by with his dog. She would have quite liked another dog, but not enough room in this little dolls’ house and there was enough entertainment from all the local dogs. Mike across the road was rushing out to recapture his springer spaniel. Perhaps he would have called him something else if he had known how often he would be yelling Bubbles. Whoops, near miss for Bubbles with that teenager on one of those E-scooter things.

Time to get ready for the library coffee morning. Abigail wondered what fascinating characters would turn up today, it was the antidote to that dreary ladies’ club she had belonged to for so long, she had only gone to have a break from Charles after he retired.

That evening Phillip and Sandra popped round for an inspection under the guise of taking her out for dinner. They came bearing plastic boxes of leftovers, or home made ready meals as they preferred to call then, with the excuse they weren’t yet used to cooking smaller amounts since the twins went off to university.

Sandra was peering over the kitchen sink,

‘Oh, there’s a strange man staring in.’

‘That’s Josh, not long out of prison, staying in the halfway house round the corner, nice chap.’

Later that evening Abigail waved goodbye to her son and daughter-in-law with relief. She had enjoyed the meal and people watching, though of course the local Wetherspoon was hardly Phillip and Sandra’s sort of place. No dishes to wash, but she enjoyed looking out of the window before it was time to settle down to watch the news.

Strange, that white car was drawing up and the husband’s car was at home. Now the wife was emerging, carefully closing the front door behind her. Abiail opened the window a little, for fresh air, not to hear what the wife was saying, shouting almost.

‘I told you to stay away, tonight of all nights, just go.’

Oh dear, it looked like he had no intention of going.

The front door flew open and the husband sprang out. He was shouting, but she couldn’t grasp the words. Now the other man was getting something out of the boot of the white car. It looked like, surely not…

Abigail wished she was shut safely in her lounge with the television turned up, oblivious to what was going on. But she wasn’t and there did not seem to be anybody else around. Nobody in the road, no house lights switching on. For the first time in her life Abigail pressed 999 on her phone.

Monday Madness

New like! God liked your post Eurovision Eve. You might want to go see what they’re up to! Perhaps you will like their blog as much as they liked yours.   Great posts worth seeing from God: Success

What better accolade could a blogger ask for?

This was our book club book this month and it was really interesting and an enjoyable read. Apart from learning a lot about Antarctic and Arctic exploring the many human snippets were fascinating. One of the leading officers would stay up writing till 2am , though he had to rise at 5am. As well as keeping  his official journal he had promised a good friend he would keep a personal journal. Writers and insomniacs will empathise. I have enough trouble packing for a week’s holiday, imagine packing supplies for four years including live bullocks… I bet they did not worry about catering for the crew’s dietary requirements and allergies. It’s also of note that many serving in the navy had gone to sea at thirteen or fourteen, no snow flakes on board…

When at last you get that Tonka truck you always longed for.

Missing No Mow May? Let it Bloom June is here.

Or perhaps you would prefer Jurassic June.

How about Meandering Monday.

Christmas Issue

‘Big Issue, Big Issue’ a phrase heard by most of us quite often unless we live in the remote countryside. Until last week I always said ‘No thank you’ or slipped by in the crowd, feeling guilty when the seller said ‘Have a nice day.’

Lots of people no longer carry cash, but that was not my excuse. There is no issue with selling the Big Issue; it is not begging, but a straightforward transaction, without the minefield of indecision when faced with people begging. The police and councils urge us not to give directly, but to support homeless charities. If someone is busking, playing an instrument well without electronic backing and cheering everybody up, I’m happy to put some money in the violin or guitar case.

I have always thought, are there not other jobs in the warm, not standing all day, that these people could be given? One thing I know about the Big Issue is you should always take your copy. The Big issue Manifesto says ‘…a handout up, not a handout… always take your copy.’ A while back a family member told me  ‘I bought a Big Issue, well I told him I didn’t want a copy, but I gave him £2.00 and told him to keep the change.’ ‘No… ‘ I cried ‘what about his pride… and anyway, it costs £2.50!’

Magazines have a strange habit of piling up unread. Over the years I have bought magazines I need or want, Radio Times because I love the radio, ‘Parents’, gardening, knitting, writing. I  avoid glossy magazines about ultra successful glamorous women or ‘Real Life’ supermarket mags about distinctly unglamorous women.

So it would be hypocritical to buy a magazine I wasn’t sure I wanted because I couldn’t browse through it in a shop. Are the many Big Sellers I have passed grateful I have spared their pride? The other issue; even if you buy a copy every week, you will probably pass half a dozen different sellers and have to apologise that you already have a copy.

The other week we passed a new chap on our way for coffee and my friend remarked she had seen him before and he wasn’t selling many, because he wasn’t engaging with the public; we had soon invented a back story for him, ex serviceman etc. Before we got to the table to meet the other friends she had delved into her purse and disappeared back outside, returning with her Big Issue. I felt doubly guilty, so last week I bought a copy off the same chap and had a nice chat with him.

As I had a long bus journey that evening the lightweight magazine was ideal and in a couple of days I had read it from cover to cover; it was full of engaging articles about people of all sorts and what could be more interesting for a writer? I was filled with virtuous zeal and determined to buy the next issue and tell him how much I enjoyed it. I passed by another half dozen sellers in the meantime, but this week he wasn’t there!

Plan B; the least I can do is e-mail the letters page of Big Issue to enthuse and buy this week’s copy from the next seller I see.