Postscript to "Paul"

Dog Walking Partner was out at the weekend. He stopped at the local pub to talk to a few guys who were inside.

I say he stopped at the pub, he actually stood outside chatting through the open window. So did the dog with his paws on the windowsill because he likes Brian.

Millions – well 20 or 30 – of RAF were standing around in uniform outside.

One of them said to Partner:

“Do I know you?”

“I don’t think so,” and then he twigged. “Unless you met my woman on the bus last week and didn’t turn up when we had arranged to meet.”

Much laughter from his mates. “He always does that,” said one of them. “Even with us. You can’t rely on him to turn up, he just changes his mind or finds something else to do.

“If he’s not there within two minutes, we just walk off.”

Guess I was lucky he sent me a text for the first cancelled meeting.

Oh and how did he spot the Partner? Well, I think the dog was a bit of a give-away, I’d described him as a cross GSD/Husky. And big. The pub is also just round the corner from our flat which I’d also mentioned, and he had been in there the previous Saturday.

Strange guy eh?

But no stranger than the one this Sunday. “Hello, do you speak English?” he said as he got on the bus in Málaga. Well, sometimes I look English, and sometimes I look indeterminate. This was obviously an English-looking day.

Plus, he looked English, so I was obviously looking at him too closely. It turned out he was Scottish. I really struggle with the accent, I have to say.

We discussed where the bus stopped. He was off to Manilva which is south of Estepona. Sometimes the bus stops there and sometimes it doesn’t. I didn’t think this one did. I offered to ask the driver.

No, he would get off at Estepona and get a taxi and go to Carrefour. (He had just flown in that day). I didn’t think Carrefour would be open at 7pm on a Sunday evening.

As you do, when you have the odd two or three hours to kill, we started chatting. Well, when I could understand the Scottish accent we did.

He wasn’t quite as nosey as Paul. Or perhaps he was differently nosey.

He was in computers and worked for a multinational company. He was here for a year. His wife was in Scotland. He had spent a lot of time working in the Far East.

He could speak Korean and Chinese. Which apparently he had learned horizontally. His words not mine. He thought he would learn Spanish the same way. I said encouragingly that he would probably get lots of opportunity.

We got on to how long we had been married. Twenty eight years him, and twenty two me.

“And have ya been a good girl all that time?” (said with Scottish accent).

“Yes,” I said, puzzled, thinking what’s it got to do with you?

“I don’t believe that, you’re kidding,” he said.

“No,” I said, wondering when he was going to change the subject.

“You don’t know what you are missing. Life’s very short you know.”

I knew exactly what I would be missing. One husband, half the property and cash, and the only thing I would acquire would be a piece of paper telling me I was divorced.

I added that I was a bit too old for playing silly games and that sleazy affairs held absolutely no interest for me.

At which point he seemed to lose interest in me. Especially when I didn’t scribble down my email address and give it to him.

I was thinking about getting a different bus this week. But hey it passes the time.

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6 comments on “Postscript to "Paul"

  1. You sure see life on your bus trips!How come we have the pleasure of you posting & commenting on a Thursday?Does this mean, internet in Gib??Best wishesBlue

    Like

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