Thursday, November 30, 2006

In the distance...

Jogging along the bank of the Dodder this morning I was relatively happy with the state of the world. True, it was windy and I was up to my flank in mulch, dog shit -people don't bother picking up after their dogs in autumn because they reckon the fallen leaves hide it- and slime, being blown about the place like a piece of not very heavy paper, and gently easing the odd leaf, dead bird and old lady out of my way. LIke I said, I was happy enough.
Then, developing a bit of a stitch-as is my wont, I have been ill you know- I slowed down a spell and walked, pausing only once or twice to lean over and hack up all manner of crap that still is refusing to vacate my lungs, like Anna Nicole Smith in that Barbados house.
Still... I was happy enough. I was minding my own business, I was considering what I might have for breakfast. It had to be a substantial breakfast for I am going to the Troc for dinner tonight and I don't want to be messin' up my appetite, yo.
When suddenly I spied an ancient dog amble out from the trees a few feet ahead of me. He was a alsation cross, stiff legged, wall eyed, carrying a log in his mouth.
I blinked at it, too late I remembered that normally this particular beast was accompanied by that most frightful of foes.
The personal space invader.
I went to gallop off back the direction I had come, but it was two late.
'Hello there, you don't have himself with you today, do you?'
'Oh hello, no har, all alone today.'
She is referring to Country Gay's tireless dog, this is how I am known to this terrible woman, it seems once you join the dog owner club you can never leave. I tried to get out but they keep pulling me back in.
'Very windy today isn't it?' She approached. I stood my ground, maybe my sweating mucky slurmy self might deter her.
I was wrong.
'Forecast is for terrible rain.' She stops exactly one and one half inches form my face. I can see her pores and a bit of gunk she has in the corner of her left eye.
'I was just saying to Melly this morning that it looked like there might be a storm coming.'
I don't know who Melly is. Perhaps she is Melly and she was talking to herself, or she is used to talking in the third person. I cannot help it, I take a step backwards. She advances. Urgh, not velly velly good at all.
'Where's himself then?' She peers about as though CG's dog might actually appear in mid air, the trickster. The Romulan dog that he is, uncloaking and giving us all a good laugh. Oh what fun, look I had him all along!
'I don't have him. He's not actually my dog. ' I remind her. 'I was just caring for him that week.'
'Poor thing, does he get out much at all?"
'I'm sure he does.' I take another step backwards and am dimayed to find I am close to the path ledge. If I step off it I will be in a small culvert that is filled with brackish water.
'They do love a good run, come hail or shine this old boy loves to go out.' She takes another step closer to me, I am sure I can smell what she had for breakfast and I can see she does not have teeth at the back. Oh dear god. I prepare to leap into the culvert, or push her in. The dog is old, I can take him.
'Yearp yearp yearp.'
The old dog has dropped his log and is doing that stiff legged semi-bounce old dogs do when they bark.
She turns to him. 'Oh now, hold on there misterman, I'll throw it for you.' She takes a step towards his log and as she does I slide past her.
'Well now!' I cry, for the sun has come out again, not really but it might as well have, 'I'd better keep moving, har, don't want to stiffen up! Take care, good to see you.'
'Oh' she turns back to where I was, but it is I who have mastered the Romulan cloaking trick, for I ain't there no more now am I?
'Cheerio!' I slap her-quite hard actually- on the shoulder, wink at the old dog and hightail it down the path. I don't look back and resolve to alter my running times.
Around the next corner I am confronted by an angry hissing swan. I don't invade its space at all, in fact I pretend I can't see it and eventually it stops flapping at me and we go about our merry ways.
Civil like.


Blogger SheBah said...

Space Invaders - horrid! You could have tried taking a step towards her, that might work! I have a senior colleague who comes up behind and reads my screen over my shoulder - if he could read my murderous thoughts! I have solved the problem by moving my desk back and putting a chair in the access space - a little fortress! When he asked what the chair was doing there I told him it was to protect my territorial imperative! He went off to look it up! Har, har.
Maybe your lady is just very shortsighted!

2:43 p.m.  
Blogger fatmammycat said...

If I had taken a space towards her we would have ended up in a very uncompromising position! She's just one of those people. Most unnerving.
Your senior colleague sounds vile too. I have a creeping horror of folk who read things over my shoulder.

4:40 p.m.  
Blogger Sam, Problem-Child-Bride said...

At home in Lewis, we Western Islanders have very definite ideas of personal space, particularly across the sexes. An old bodach will typically stand about 3 feet away from a woman of any age or attractiveness and shout in a cheery there's-no-way-I'm-thinking-about-sex-with-you-at-all way leading you to think of course that that's exactly what he's thinking. Even if he isn't.

On the other hand, there are no such niceties observed in the bars at 8 o'clock with everybody crammed together like sardines only inches away from their neighbour's halitosic mouth, dandruffed shoulders and unblown noses (bleurgh). But we do it cheerfully because we want serving, and if we're honest we probably like it. A welcome counterpoint to the chilly pews on a Sunday.

5:18 p.m.  
Anonymous Bonnie said...

Shebah, I have a suggestion. Type something like "Stop reading over my shoulder, you twit!" onto a document and keep it at the bottom of your screen. Then, when he comes up behind you and begins to read, click on it and bring it up full screen.

And Cat, the comment about "like Anna Nicole Smith in that Barbados house" nearly caused me an accident I won't describe. Ha!

6:06 p.m.  
Blogger fatmammycat said...

Capital Idea Bonnie! But Shebah did say he was a senior so she might get in trouble for being cheeky. I think she should train herself to release stinky farts whenever he is behind her- I know she is a lady so that sounds ridiculous-but it would soon stop his sneaking about.
Sam, are you in some way trying to suggest the dog lady is trying to have sex with me, because I don't much like the sounds of that at all. I'll push her in the Dodder if that's the case.

6:27 p.m.  
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