Pennies From Heaven.

The weather was wet in Ashbourne this morning, and as I walked among the throng of shoppers I noticed that very few of them had umbrellas. Hoods and wetted hair were the order of the day; umbrellas were a rarity. (I’m a hoods man myself.)

Later I was sheltering underneath the overhang of a shop roof, puffing gently on a roly and watching the common horde traipsing their anonymous and mostly silent ways across the sodden roads and footpaths, when I noticed a youngish and comely woman approaching. She was using an umbrella, a red and white one, and as she came close I remarked that it was good to see an umbrella in use because so few people carry them these days.

I expected her to respond with the usual brand of polite indifference which people commonly employ when accosted by a complete stranger with nothing notable to say. She didn’t. Instead she smiled and stopped, and then we had a quiet and most amicable conversation around the subject of habits and dress styles and the requirements of different locations. There were no awkward pauses because just before one might have ensued she said ‘goodbye’ and walked on. Perfect timing, just as you would expect from a benevolent and omniscient universe.

It reminded me of being taken to the dentist as a child. When the ordeal was over my mother would take me to the Woolworth’s store and buy me a little gift so as to sweeten the pill in the final act. And so, it seems, does fate occasionally.