The trouble caused by these terrorist plots goes on and on. While hand-cream is still used in this household without triggering major incident, something nasty nearly happened to me this morning.
I was returning from the petrol station with a copy of the local paper. I learned that suspects have been arrested in every street where I once considered renting a flat, but not the street where I live now.
I was absorbed in reading about how mounted police had cordoned off King’s Wood in order to dig for explosives. It was a bit like my post “A grave mystery unearthed”.
All of a sudden, a hand grabbed my sleeve, accompanied by a loud cry. An earnest grey-haired lady was at my side. She’d been walking behind me, but speeded up when she saw that I was about to step in a pool of vomit.
I thanked her for this prompt rescue. I was immediately reminded of the other day when, distracted by BBC News 24 live coverage of counter-terrorist actions in my town, I’d let my blackberry jam turn into purple toffee. “It’s all because of the terrorists, they put such chaos in our lives,” I quipped.
I don’t suppose many passers-by would have grasped the subtlety of my joke, but this lady being Polish with very little English, it went over her head. “Terrorists? Terrorists!” She rolled her eyes and pointed a finger to her head significantly: “It’s money! All money!” I guess neither of us knew what the other meant.
a wayfarer’s notes 