Teashop Times Tragedy

It's not all good fun at the teashop. Sometimes the grim realities of life are clear to see.

It started promisingly enough, with my finger being cut on the aluminium foil of some paracetamol tablets. This is the sort of everyday irony which makes me howl with laughter. I was still in good spirits when I arrived at the teashop and my voice unexpectedly cracked, making my request for coffee and cake sound like Pinky and Perky on helium. The customers turned around to stare at me like a many-headed creature. A Hydra of ridicule.

But then it started going downhill. The couple next to me turned out to be a carer and service user. The old guy was apparently deaf and in the early stages of dementia, so the conversation was difficult, to say the least. He had obviously been a feisty chap with plenty of opinions, but every attack floundered in mid sentence as he lost his way and the carer had to help him out. Some of it would probably have made it into a dubious sitcom in the 1970's.

Carer: "Yes, he was rather mean and nasty"
Service user: "Thank you, I'd love a Cornish pastie."

But like a lot of sympathy, mine was based on a recognition of my own mortality. In the lottery of life, could it not be me in a few years?

I probably wouldn't get the Cornish pastie either...