THE BENCH
It’s not
actually my bench, but I’m here every day, rain or shine. Henry would miss me
if I didn’t come, and I’d miss our little chats. If I talk to him anywhere else
they’ll put me in a nursing home, and I’m not going – can’t bear the smell of
those places.
So it was
shock to find a young man sprawled out on it – sunbathing, no less – and I was
a bit sharp with him. I was sorry then because he looked about to run off, so I
patted the bench beside me and offered him a biscuit.
Unemployed,
of course, but he’d been trying. Trouble was, he hadn’t gone about it
systematically. Sitting there, we drew up a plan. He’s promised to come back
next week and report progress.
I told
Henry all about him – he’s a good listener. Nor surprising really – he can’t
say much from six feet under.
Aww, that's heartwarming and sad, Liz. I have no idea how you come up with so many ideas!!
ReplyDeleteThanks Helen. Probably the same way you come up with so many children's books - imagination working overtime!
DeleteWhat a twist!
ReplyDeleteI don't often catch you out, Helen !
DeleteLove this one...
ReplyDeleteThank tou, Dale.
DeleteThis was a lovelly blog post
ReplyDelete