The Posh Samaritan.

It’s been a low, uncommunicative sort of day today. There was an ever-present undertone of anxiety about it, and when the roaring wind blew a pane of glass out of my greenhouse, it felt unfriendly. Still, at least I got home before the forecast heavy rain arrived and made the bottom road near-impassable to vehicular traffic, as it’s wont to do occasionally.

The rain came on late in the afternoon and continued throughout the evening. It was still raining when I went out for a walk so there were no residual puddles and winking moons, just a shallow flowing stream where the tarmac used to be.

I’d only waded about a hundred yards when I saw headlights coming down the lane. ‘Oh, no,’ thinks I, ‘I’m about to be treated to an unscheduled cold shower.’ But no: the posh white BMW stopped and the window slid down. (People of my generation are still tempted to say ‘The driver wound the window down.’ But they don’t now, do they, not even me. We push buttons now. To continue…)

I recognised the driver as Miss Sarah’s neighbour, and he cordially offered me a lift. That’s unusual. I’ve observed that drivers don’t generally offer lifts to wet people – fear of dampening the upholstery, I suppose – but Mr Posh BMW apparently had Samaritan tendencies. I declined, of course, with equal cordiality, explaining that I was just out for my evening constitutional. And then it occurred to me that Mr Posh BMW must be about the only person in the neighbourhood who doesn’t know that the weird bloke from up near the school wanders the lanes of The Shire every night.

And if you want to see a funny little sketch about The Good Samaritan, take a look at this. I think I might have posted it before, but I don’t remember.