little old lady

Little Old Lady ©

By Michael Casey

I met this little old lady in the street yesterday and we got talking, mutual accostation if you like, if there is such a word. Now should she be reading this I’m going to divert from reality, lest she sue me, or chase me while trying to pinch my bum a la Benny Hill. Now little old ladies have a lifetime of experience, that’s why they are old. Yesterday’s little old lady, shall I call her Lottie, I knew a cleaner called Lottie once, so hello to her as well just in case she too is reading this. Now the little old lady Lottie, didn’t need a shave, as some little old ladies do, she had a sparkle in her eye, and no she was not on drugs either, maybe stronger pain killers than the paracetamol I take, but I did not ask her.

So there you have a picture, a cartoon emerging, and guess what  her son worked in the local library as a shelf stacker, he’d previously worked in Tescos, so he moved from stacking pees to stacking  books at the Spring Hill Library which actually adjoins the library. So he just slid over from one stacking to another.  But his true love in his life was/is cartoons, a kind of Banksy but with chalk, all over the loading bay at Tescos.  He nearly got killed a few times as the 18 wheelers arrived, but otherwise he enjoyed his art, as did the truckers. Only the rain was his greatest critic, and Marvin the security guard’s dog.

So naturally I told the little old lady by the name of Lottie that’s I’d love to meet him, if only for the stacking skills, as our house could do with a good stacker as I can no longer stack as well as I used to. If I pick up a heavy load it hurts my chest for a day where I had my op, sadly I doubt if I’ll ever be able to carry the nutty slack in from the coal shed to our living room again. But at least I’m still alive to bore you all, I better say it before any bright spark says it, perhaps they should just try drawing in the loading bay, and maybe they could dodge all the 18 wheelers, I have feelings you know.

Lottie also told me about her granddaughter a maths wiz, so I said snap, as my own bigger daughter is a maths wiz too. We hope to bribe the brightest spark from the maths class with regular teas in the hope he’ll push my daughter higher up the grading scale. This year the grades have been toughened. By the way the maths grade boundaries are so high that you need 10% to 15% more marks  to get an A compared to the arts. Say 75 is an A for English in Maths it may be 85.

 So me and Lottie discussed this as she brought out a cucumber from her trolley on wheels, and began to munch on it. Lottie explained it was good for her and it also prevented little old men from kissing her. Now that I admit threw me, but then I remember back in my computer days somebody who ate cucumber galore, 20 years ago and more this is. And as I said to them I’d never kiss you with cucumber breath, he was a man as well, so obviously I really would never kiss him, not even if her were in drag.

The little old lady told me where she lived, but I told her I was not meals on wheels nor a boy scout, so she hit me with her cucumber. If you want to meet my son, stupid, then that’s where you will  find him. Look for all the chalk marks. So I said sorry, and then she kissed me goodbye. I fainted and  hit my head on a dustbin, as it was bin day yesterday. Cucumber has that effect on me, I heard her trundle away in the distance, as I tried to remember what day it was, as I leant on the dustbin, I remember, it was bin day.