Sunday, March 07, 2010
bag, key, forgotten
Shades of blue discarded in a cobbled alley.
A healthy looking man goes to the front of the queue at the Customer Help counter in Sainbury's. "Excuse me," he says to the people at the head of the queue and to the young man behind the counter: "Could I have the key to the disabled toilets". There is a pronounced hint of embarrassed laughter in his voice, implying a degree of urgency. There is no problem. Only sympathy for whomever is in need. The keys are handed over. But a child with her mother, in front of the queue, is quick to spot, without fully understanding it, a vestige of social unease: "Why is he laughing?" she asks.
As I walk down Mount Sion this afternoon, I stop and about turn. The man coming up the hill, whom I am about to pass, asks sympathetically: "Lost something?" I say: "I've forgotten something". It's either something you have lost or something that you have forgotten, that at my age causes anyone to turn and climb back up the slope, which he has just descended with a light heart.