Porridge in the morning
Grandad April 5th, 2008
I was woken out of a very very deep sleep this morning by Sandy barking. Herself nudging me in the ribs didn’t help.
“There’s someone at the door,” she muttered and went back to sleep.
I dragged myself out of bed and stuck my head out the window, which happens to be beside the front door.
“Two minutes,” says I.
It was a bloke who said he would call around to discuss a job. He said Saturday morning, which is fine by me as I’m usually an early riser. But not this morning.
I brought him in, but I was on auto-pilot. My brain was still in neutral. I could not think. My mind had the consistency of thick porridge.
I saw the kettle and it inspired me. It was something I recognised. “Mug of tea?” I suggested. “Fine,” says the bloke.
So I made the tea and we sat down and stared at each other. He waited for me to speak, while I sat wondering who the hell he was, and who the hell I was. A dribble of saliva ran down my chin into my beard.
“How much will it cost?” I asked, after a severe mental struggle.
“How much will what cost?” he replied.
I tried to remember. Then it came to me in a moment of inspiration – I had drawn a sketch of the work. I gave it to him. This gave me some breathing space as he had to sit politely and examine my sketch. He asked some questions. I gave completely irrelevant answers, which confused both of us. By dint of cross examination, he got the gist of what I wanted, and said he would phone me. He left.
About an hour later, I mentally woke up.
I’m as sharp as a razor now.
Any questions?
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