Actually, that isn’t true. What I was actually doing was
standing on a ladder trimming the top of a tall, broad hedge with a pole hedge
trimmer – in case a certain lady came by. She didn’t, of course. Certain little
ladies never come by when you’re up a ladder trimming a hedge (or even leaning
on a lamp post for that matter.) The prospect is but a fantasy, and who could ever
accuse me of being a fantasist?
Somebody did stop her car to talk to me, though. I had to
climb down the ladder to talk back. She was little, but not exactly a lady. She
said:
‘I haven’t seen you walking around the lanes for a long
time.’
‘I know,’ I replied with suitably wan expression. ‘My left
leg won’t let me.’
‘That’s a shame,’ she continued with the merest hint of
concern. ‘Walking is what you like doing.’
‘I know. I think my body is finally breaking down. I’ve
smoked all my adult life and drunk far more alcohol than I’m supposed to.’
‘Oh well, at least you’re blaming yourself. That’s good.’
And then she drove away.
Several people have said ‘but walking is what you like doing’
and I always reply ‘I know’, but my leg never takes the hint.
But I suppose I should be grateful for one thing. It was
when I last trimmed that hedge back in June that I had the disturbing episode
which might have been a heart attack. I had no heart attack today, and who
needs little ladies when you can avoid having heart attacks instead?
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