Sunday, 29 September 2019

A Close Encounter with Mr Angry

The sun may have been shining,
the birds singing,
the bees buzzing busily about their business,
but I had no idea.
I had my nose stuck in a book.
I was deeply engrossed on a wild and windswept Anglesea
following the triumphs and traumas
of a someone who was everything I was never going to be.




Suddenly my companion whispered out of the corner of her mouth
"Oops! I think I just broke that guys windscreen. Whatever you do, don't look up, and definitely don't say a word!"
This sentence made no sense to me.
In my book there was a race against the tide, THAT made more sense.
I assumed I had misheard and murmered my assent without really considering what I was agreeing to.  Meanwhile the waves continued to break treacherously upon the jagged rocks.

There was the sound of a car reversing at high speed
"Five miles per hour maximum speed on the campsite" I intoned, as the crew desperately tried to steer the ship away from the rocks...
A sudden strident voice disturbed the peace of the campsite.
"What the F$£& do you think you are doing? 
You just broke my bloody windscreen!"
I turned another page, hoping that against the odds that the young hero would not be lost at sea, but aware that his fate was inevitable - having taken a sneaky peak a bit further on in the book.

"Are. You. Deaf?" 
The angry voice got louder and stomped across the gravel towards us.
From the corner of my eye I can see that my companion is apparently engrossed in a game of Candy Crush.
Mr Angry heads towards us.
It is hard to stomp across gravel with dignity, as the stones slither rebelliously beneath your feet.
Mr Angry cames to a halt, casting a shadow over my book.
I look up, at this towering mass of anger, and outrage.
Above his flushed face beads of sweat cling tenuously onto equally disgruntled curls of hair.
This is not the time to ask of he has ever considered playing Goliath in Open the Book.
I give him my best politely quizical look, but remembering the instruction from my wiser companion, limit communication to a slightly raised eyebrow.

"What. Are. You. Going. To. Do. About. It?" he demands.
My companion finishes her game of Candy Crush and looks up at Mr Angry
"Sorry, I have no idea what you are on about." and begins another game of Candy Crush, appearing to dismiss Mr Angry from her thoughts.

"You better pay for it. You broke it! yells Mr Angry
Unmoved, my companion continues her game of Candy Crush.
Furious at the lack of progress he is making mr Angry loses it in a violent torrent of language, profane, unoriginal, repetitive and abusive.
At this point I decide that he has crossed the line, and decide that despite my instruction not to speak, that a verbal response is required.
I put on my politest voice.
"Excuse me, is that anyway to speak to a sweet, innocent old lady!?"
I am immediately aware that both of them are now looking at me furiously.
Waves of outrage radiate from both of them.
Mr Angry resents his complete failure to successfully pin the blame on his broken windscreen on anyone to date.
Meanwhile my companion is furious at being described as "sweet" or "old".
Alas, she cannot deny neither, for fear of drawing attention to the word "innocent", which is rather inconvenient to say the least.

At this moment my husband and daughter return with bags of shopping.
DH passes my companion the greener than green bananas she has requested.
"My windscreen is broken" Mr Angry decides he needs to justify his presence.
My husband turns his gaze to the abandoned car on the adjacent roadway.
"Yes, definitely broken!"
The KHT decisdes to add her verdict to the debate.
"A bee!" she declares, "It must have been a bee!"
Mr Angry regards the solemn gaze of the KHT and agrees weakly "Yes, it must have been a bee!" 

Just as he is returning to his car to search out details for windscreen replacements a mobile windscreen repair van stops beside his car.
"Not another one!" he  announces with disbelief, "I've had three call outs to this site already this afternoon. 
Some blame Sahara Sand. 
More like Devon Sandstone if you ask me!"

The weirdest things happen in dreams...



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