It was a miserable Sunday morning as I slowly meandered my way down Blenheim Road on my way back home after finishing another excruciatingly boring night shift at the glass factory. Turning another corner, I noticed the outline of three figures on the median strip in the middle of the road. They seemed to be wrestling with each other. As I drew closer, it became apparent a uniformed Police Officer doing his very best to apprehend two people who were taking grave exception to being apprehended.
An inebriated gentleman and his good lady were putting up a hearty fight, numbers at this point were in their favour, slightly.
I slowly pulled Dad’s old Vauxhall to a halt, wound the window down, just enough to stop the rain pouring in.
“You need a hand mate?” I reluctantly called out from the shelter of the car. There was a momentary lull in hostilities just long enough for one of the two drunks to reply, “No bro, I think we got him.”
Reassured by that, I moved on, leaving the image of three figures staggering all over the road in my rear-view mirror.
“How was work Archie?” Mum asked casually.
“Good,” I replied with a sense of satisfaction and reminding myself that you should always offer to help a fellow traveller out.
“Nice cuppa tea?” Mum asked.
∞