‘What are you trying to sell me?’ I asked.
‘Nothing. We’re just trying to raise awareness of an issue.’
‘What issue is that?’
‘Deaf children.’
OK, now I know where this is going. My suspicions were
confirmed when she went into the routine which effectively amounted to: I’m a
really nice person, and you’re a really nice person, and I’m sure we can be
great friends, so let’s get acquainted.
‘My name’s Holly, what’s yours?’
‘Jeff.’
‘Is that short for Jeffrey?’
'Yes.'
'I must be psychic.'
'Yes.'
'I must be psychic.'
‘What other forename could be abbreviated to Jeff?’ I asked.
‘I suppose there’s Jefferson, but that’s an
American name. I doubt there are many people in Britain
called Jefferson.’
‘Some people think I’m Russian. Or Polish.’
‘Well, your appearance does hint at the suggestion of Slavic
somewhere along the line.’
‘Is that good or bad?’
‘Neither. People are whatever they are.’
By now it was becoming obvious that Holly wasn’t the
brightest button in the box, and then she asked:
‘Do you live locally?’
‘No. I live near Ashbourne.’
She seemed impressed by that and asked how far away
Ashbourne was.
‘About twenty three miles.’
Her mouth and eyes opened in seemingly genuine astonishment.
‘How on earth did you get here?’ she asked breathlessly.
‘Erm… in a car?’ (Why I didn't reply 'partly on foot, partly by helicopter, and the final leg by narrowboat on the canal system' I really don't know. Maybe it was because the day was dull and I felt cold.)
And so it went on. Eventually I reminded her that I wasn’t
about to sign another direct debit form for a monthly subscription because
there are hundreds of charities out there and I’m already a contributor. ‘They’re
a side effect of the free market economy,’ I pointed out. ‘If human beings
would only grow up we wouldn’t need charities.’
‘Thank you for stopping to talk to me.’
Ah, the brush off.
‘You’re welcome.’
I walked away wishing I had Dr House’s edge in such matters,
but I haven’t. And I know charities are all trying to get a piece of a limited
pie and the job of so doing is difficult. I just wish they’d be a little more
clued up and a little more authentic in their approach. Knowing that I’m the
recipient of a transparent routine doesn’t help.
So then I went and bought a cake because I felt hungry. I
accidentally dropped a piece of it and the pigeons pounced, but that was OK
because I like pigeons. They’re never anything but authentic. And a beggar
asked me for a pound to get a drink so I gave him one. He looked authentic,
too.
And when I got back I heard a loud thump on my office
window. I went out to find a baby Great Tit looking wet and forlorn lying under
it (it was raining heavily at the time.) I picked him up and cradled him in my
hands for about ten minutes to keep him warm while I waited for him to get
restive. When he began to struggle I let him go, but he wouldn’t let me go. He
hung onto the sleeve of my sweater for quite a while, looking up at me as I
talked gently to him and stroked his head. Eventually he flew away and I wished
him well.
And that’s the story of today so far.
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