Taking in the air this evening on the way home from The City, I was rather startled to see my chum Pratish behind the wheel of an ancient Renault car.
Not the most startling of things there you might think, but consider these facts:
- I was in Ipswich
- Pratish was last seen in London, not getting on the train I was getting on
- Pratish doesn’t own a car. And, well, even if he did, he doesn’t own one in Ipswich.
- How in the name of all things holy did he end up in a traffic jam on St. Helen’s Street?
Of course, I realised that it wasn’t Pratish. However, this not-P was staring right back, which was one of the reasons I caught sight of him in the first place. Anyhow, I nodded a curt ‘good evening’ and continued on my way, adding ‘freak’ after I’d passed, so as not to start any trouble.
Two hundred yards later at the corner of my street, I was yelled and beckoned at by a rather over-excitable little man in an ancient Renault. It was Not-Pratish who, I gather, was after giving me a lift home.
I expect he was also after a go in my tight little boy bottom too.