This morning...
as I ambled around the streets of Reading I approached a little old lady. As I drew near she asked if I would help her across the road...I adopted by bestest boy scout smile and said 'of course'. We held hands as we crossed (is this correct, or have I been violated? I was anticipating linked arms?). The seconds turned into minutes...after some fist waving and shouting at some impatient cunt of a cab driver , we made it to the concrete island step in the middle. A mere 15 odd minutes and she was safely of the other side.
Me: 'You OK here?'
LOL: 'Just a little bit more over there'
We walk 5 metres along a stunningly flat and unimpeded stretch of pavement.
Me: 'This OK for you'
LOL....no answer...we walk on a bit...then we are standing still...30 odd seconds elapse...
Me: 'Ummm...I sort of need to pop off now if you're OK...'
LOL: 'You're hand is lovely and warm.'
We both lookdown at our entwined digits...time moves with uncomfortable slowness...
I try to extract myself from the old dears grip...with limited success...
She hums...we make eye contact. I give her my 'special stare'...she ignores the fact that she is gripping a demented looking oriental.
I take a step and a half back...she refuses to disengage and I am now half bowing with an outstretched arm...We spend the next minute or so engaged in light conversation about Forbury park.
After a while the backbone kicked in and I peeled her fingers from my hand, checked she was OK (well she was standing) and scarpered quick smart...
Round the corner I checked pockets for my wallet and phone.
Old people are fucking mental...though I did feel a rather large pang of sadness... there should be a scout on every fucking street corner so I dont have to go through that again...