August 28, 2009

Lunchtime, and Redleader and I find ourselves chowing down on some solids at our local fruit flea-ridden bistro, along with a pint to cure us of the just-been-paid-but-still-skint-anyway blues.

On the way there, I bump into a familiar face, and I'm about to say hello, but then I realise that would be odd, because I've never actually met or spoken to him...

...I've just had endless reports about how he is, how unwell he has been, how unhappy he has been, how funny he is, how full of exaggeration he can be at times. I know the name of the bloke he holds a torch for, and his name for the woman that same man is engaged to. I know where he lives, how he lives, what his ailments are, and I've had pictures of him in sad times forwarded onto me.

But he doesn't know me at all. Because I didn't exist. So I kept my mouth shut and carried on, wondering if he was wondering why our eyes had met and mine had shown recognition.

In other news, after lunch had finished, the weather forecast came onto the television. "Rest of the day", it said in the corner, as it showed a map of Great Britain. And an orange storm alert began to flash, over and over.

Have one guess where it was...