Holiday Nightmares - The Cast - Part 1

After nearly 12 hours on coaches on the hottest day of the year (in Britain, at any rate - I can't speak for Louisiana, Northern Territories or Botswana) I came back down to earth with a thump.  I knew I was home.  


The Boss had sent me for fish and chips. For 200 yards (sorry, I don't do metres unless in Europe) on the home straight, with the chippie doorway firmly in view and the shop unusually empty, I kept a beady what'sit out for people who might get there first (usually there's about 30 of them, vying and shoving). But not a one, apart from an octogenarian gent taking the evening air, inch by trudging inch, poor soul. Until he saw me, that is, and sensed a rival for First in the Queue, and with a final sprint that Seb Coe might have been proud of he made it, a big smirk of triumph spread athwart his whiskery mush.


This will strike a chord with some readers (won't it Steph?) For he, or his double, is the principal character in this week's dramatic presentation - 


The E-Type Cripple


('cripple' is not a word that I would normally use. But it is the word this man used. It is therefore permissible, but only in the context of this little fable)


Objective:  to attain the front seat when the human contents of two coaches merge for a trip, and all seats are up for grabs.


Strategy:  finish breakfast early by demanding preferential service, on account of urgent appointment at cripple clinic; then sprint to coach in coach park; alight via offside door while driver is conducting pre-flight checks; squat on front seat; and stay put. If challenged when passengers embark, say "I are poor cripple, also I are pay £30 for this seat", thus gaining sympathy vote.


Resources:  wife modelled on lines of Nora Batty, providing cover in hotel breakfast room by excessive flashing of wrinkled stockings and/or dewlaps/gaudy headband.


Qualifications:  retired teacher; admirer of that woman who once got to be prime minister by a fluke in the Tory voting system; owner of flat cap or beret, stained beige mac, and clunky walking stick as character props.




next time... the Grand Master of his Lodge tells how he provided 50kg of  free butties for the initiated by exploiting loopholes in security in European hotels' breakfast buffets.