Tall, tanned with a duffel bag he sits in front with me. “I am
Miguel” instantly my language centre of my brain deduces quickly that Miguel is
a student, in fact, a foreign student. I say hello back, in English. Slowly. I notice his knees are very tanned, already I’m
annoyed he can get away with wearing shorts as I look stupid even standing next
to a rack of shorts in a shop. Me with
my white british knees. “I love England, it is pretty” I sense he is reciting a
Spanish Janet and John ‘how to speak the English’ book for the under-fives. Probably
not though, last time I spoke Spanish I said “graphiarse” instead of gracias,
somehow my lips got involved and both colluded to embarrass me. We are making
good progress and about halfway to his destination he starts to move about
in his seat to face me, he starts to stroke the side of the seat and that
instantly puts me into my I-appreciate-your-gay-but-I’m-not-mode, as I am quite
a catch for the younger gay men of this world. I am thinking he wants to stay
in the UK with the perfect sugar daddy, which is me obviously. It is funny what conclusions you can come to
in a few seconds. “Have you want to seen my banana?” Miguel insists whilst
tapping my arm and has a pout on, like they do in them ‘selfies’ you see on
twitter and that Facebook. I have to stop, he’s crossed a boundary touching me
and offering me his ‘banana.’ I pull over, get out and stomp around to the
passenger door, open it and drag him and his tanned knees out. He is crying and
wailing, not sure what he is saying but I get in and drive away. Feeling bloody
miffed I can tell you, I’m always being picked on by the gays, just because I have
perfect nails, lovely teeth, wear lovely clothes, wash almost every day and
listen to Melody Gardot. I’m miffed me, miffed.
Much later while searching for a penny
that fell out of my quite perfectly manicured hand down the side of the
passenger seat, I find a bandana. The
penny dropping was perhaps a metaphor for the penny dropping in my perfectly moisturised
and quaffered head. ‘Have I seen his bandana?’ is what Miguel was trying to say
to me. I feel a bit daft and embarrassed; he was not trying to pull me to be his
sugar daddy, he was looking for his bandana! I still have it. I wore it when I dressed
as a pirate for pirate day, tied it to my sword. Very fetching.
This was a blog about the lives that got in a taxi, The newspapers i wrote for, now it’s just a blog about life.
Friday, 19 July 2013
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