The Frumplingtons

It was a bit windy this morning. But at least the sun was out and it was a fine morn for a foray into town. Today we were on a shopping expedition — for ‘Sundries’. (Don’t ask, right? Just don’t ask.)

Before heading home exhausted and heavy-laden (and clearly trying to elicit the sympathy vote from our readers — shopping can be such hard work, can’t it?) we needed to get four pints of milk from Heron on Sincil Street.

We had hardly gone two feet when we were nearly knocked off our feet by a strong gust of wind. I had my coat open at the time with my scarf loosely draped round my neck. The force of the wind took hold of the scarf (a recent fun purchase, a present for me from Shana, with pictures of teddy bears all over it) and, as far as I could tell, had blown it halfway across town. Fortunately though, Shana, who was following me closely, holding on to my coat tails and making good use of me as a human windbreak, had stopped my treasured scarf before it could go any further. She had managed to catch it by the quite ingenious trick of putting her head directly in its intended flight path and locking her teeth onto it. In this respect she resembled nothing so much as some kind of wild-eyed flamenco dancer, using my teddy bear scarf in place of the traditional rose, and, on this occasion, not bothering to use a set of castanets or any of the usual flamenco paraphernalia. Perhaps, if we could repeat this little vignette, we might even be able to waltz away with first prize (albeit as late entrants) in the BBC’s Strictly Come Dancing series.

But to have any chance of recreating it all faithfully, we’d probably need to be in a wind tunnel. And in any case, I’m not sewing sequins on my scarf just to get on the telly. Not bloomin’ likely.

Chris