Mahinda’s Little World

While searching through old emails for the Maria story, I also came up with this one…

Unusually, this story starts while I’m sober, and ends the same way. I was dropping some borrowed books off at Rosy’s place. He wasn’t in, so they went in the paper recycling bin with a txt sent to Rosy telling him where they were.

As I first drove to the house, there was an old man on the other side of the street with lots of shopping bags, who thought I was a taxi. I told him I wasn’t, and dumped the books.

I went back to the car to find that the chap had crossed the road, in prime position to beg me for a lift home, just up Yew Tree Road. He was harmless enough, just a bit doddery and drunk. And Irish. Something of a stereotype, to be honest. He also looked absolutely freezing, it looked as though it might start raining, and I had nowhere else to be…so I thought I’d do a good deed for once.

I was Oliver’s new best friend, it turned out. He was most persuasive about this. I concentrated on trying to pick the valid directions out of his stream of consciousness.

So I drove him down to what turned out to be a little close just opposite the Man City training complex, and helped him with his bags — he was spilling turnips everywhere. When I realised that his place was just off the close, I decided that I should probably lock the car up. In the badlands and all that

So I locked the passenger side door…and realised just as it slammed shut it that my car’s dodgy central locking had decided to work for a change…and lock the driver’s door too. I was locked out of my car, with the engine on and my phone in the door pocket.

BUGGER.

No really. BUGGER.

I helped Oliver home with his bags, and asked if he had a phone — my plan was to phone home and see if I could get Housemate Andy round to pick me up so I could find my spare keys. Oliver couldn’t find his mobile, which I figure was probably just in a different pocket. No matter — he took me round to a neighbour’s place…who looked at us suspiciously and told us that she had no credit. At this point, I was thinking of running home anyway…but there was another neightbour to try. "Lovely girl, I’m sure she’ll help" slurred Oliver.

Like this one but smaller

Knocked on the door at no.4. A miniature Cyberman stared back at us through the window. Not a bad little costume, to be honest. Eventually, the door was opened by a rather attractive brunette.

"Is yer mother in?" asks my erstwhile companion, "this chap’s lost ‘is phone".

"I am the mother" she replies, looking less than impressed.

I shushed him and explained what had actually happened, and Emma (for that be her name) let me use her phone. Turns out Oliver was trying to get hold of the (older) woman in the flat above. Close enough, anyway.

No answer. All other useful numbers were in my phone.

Oliver wasn’t helping — he’d gone into "manic but well-meaning mode" if you see what I mean, where someone’s drunkenly trying to help but really isn’t.

I ushered him home, told him to get some rest, and asked Emma if she’d mind keeping an eye on the car. I then started running the two miles back home. Got to Wilbraham Road…and realised that leaving my car with its engine running, in Rusholme west of the Wilmslow Road, for at least 40 minutes, was not a great idea.

It’s at this point that I realised that I was an RAC member, and they do things like that…so I ran back to Emma’s and asked her if I could use her phone again, this time for an 0800 number. The RAC said they’d be 45 minutes, so she invited me in and we sat there chatting for a while. It was her son’s 5th birthday, hence the Cyberman suit, and we mostly talked about spiders. She made me a cup of tea.

Eventually, RAC bloke got there, laughed at me, poked a metal rod in between door and frame, and pressed the button to wind down the window. Job done. It took all of five minutes.

Well, they say one good turn deserves another…which sort of applied. I’d much rather not have needed to cash it in so soon, though!