|Complete humour failure by end of note|
Or should that be 'music' teacher? Or even music 'teacher'?
Put it this way, my arrival for my weekly keyboard lesson warrants a frantic rolling of cigarettes and much deep puffing at the back door. By the time I leave, he's practically inhaling all his tobacco before the roll-up papers are out of his pocket.
I want to be healthier so I had decided that I would be cycling to Frank's last Wednesday.
Tartarus had gone out for a lunch-time pint with a fellow merchant navy friend who was visiting him for the afternoon. In my naivety (allows herself a hollow laugh) I had thought he might come home while I was out at my hourly lesson.
I announce in the note 'Gone to Frank's on BIKE!!' because I am GIDDY with excitement of doing something healthy and environmentally friendly.
I strap on my helmet and open the back door. It is raining, but not horrifically. I hurry to the outbuilding where my bike leans sadly against the wall. I throw my leg over and excecute a bikely 57-point turn. By the time I face the right way, the rain is coming down in sheets. SHEETS.
I run back to the house, let myself in, drop off my helmet, pick up my car key and adjust the note by scoring through the 'BIKE!!' and scribbling 'car!!!'
I rush to the garage and open the door......and am confronted by Tartarus's car at the front of the garage. My mini is squashed up against the back wall. I have never driven Tartarus's car and I'm not going to try it today.
Trailing clouds of profanity behind me like cigarette smoke, I lock up the garage, run back to the house, let myself in, pick up my helmet, drop off my car key and adjust the note. I score through the word 'car!!!' and once again write Bike. No exclamation marks. I am no longer in a good mood.
And so I cycled to Frank's in the pissing rain. A lone cyclist in streets full of cars. Rain rolls off the front of my helmet in a continual waterfall, soaking the thighs of my jeans so that when I cycle, small bubbles are forced through the material. People are pointing at me. And no wonder. They think I'm an imbecile. So do I.
By the time I arrive at Frank's front door, the water is, literally, running off me.
He not only hands me a bath towel to dry myself on, but drapes a smaller one on the piano stool to make me more comfortable during my lesson.
'I thought you would have come by car today,' he offers.
I say nothing, but smile through gritted teeth.
When I get home, there is still no Tartarus. Indeed there is no Tartarus until 5pm.
The following day is The End of Days. My blogging is all out of synch. I blame my hormones.
Note: Tis now Monday and it has rained and rained and rained. And it's now JULY!!
How's the weather where you are?