I wasn’t looking forward to the Summer Ball. Harold had
persuaded me to go, in fact he’d paid for the ticket so I couldn’t really
complain, but I knew what would happen - it had happened before, We’d go there
together, sit together for the meal - and then he’d get off with someone and
I’d be no more use to him.
“You OK to get home on your own?” he’d said to me last year
as he’d shepherded the Carnival Queen out towards the car park. I’d ended up
walking the six miles home - and that’s no fun in a DJ and new shoes.
This year, I was going under my own steam. The Land
Rover’s not too smart, but at least I'd have my own set of wheels.
I left home ten minutes after Harold - he’d been in a rush
as usual. It had been raining all day, well, all year really, and the lanes
were quite treacherous. As I got to the bottom of the hill, I slowed down. I
knew it had been flooded there before. And that’s when I saw him. Oh dear, I
know it’s not really funny - but he looked so forlorn standing up to his knees
in water. I’d have stopped, but he’d already called the AA. As I drove past, I
had a sudden thought; this year’s Carnival Queen was even fitter than last
year’s.
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