I've lost count of the number of oddballs and misfits that have come banging on my door over the years - gipsies, travelling salesmen, gentlemen of the road - I've had them all here.
A few years ago, I went to answer a knock at the door to find an elderly couple in a state of some agitation. They explained that they had been walking but had lost their way and were anxious that they wouldn't make it back home to Bath in time for that evening's episode of Hearbeat and would I mind awfully if they came in and watched it on my TV.
My old man would have none of this when he was alive and had one of those "No hawkers, gipsies or purveyors of religious knowledge" signs afixed to the gate post at the bottom of the garden path and, as a last resort, he always kept a policeman's helmet on display inside the porch.
I found myself wishing these measures were still in place the other night When I was accosted on my doorstep by an old tinker woman who asked in a gravelly Irish brogue:
"Beggin' yer pardon mister, but I was wondering if you could help me out. Me little girl's just pappered her knickers and I was wondering if you might have a spare pair if it's not too much trouble that is".
I was just about to explain that that I didn't have much in the way of kids' undies when the 6'4" frame of her "little girl" darkened the entrance of my wisteria festooned porch clutching a can of Special Brew and leering menacingly at me.
I grabbed a pair of the wife's size 48s out of the laundry basket and sent them packing before shutting the door on them and slamming the security bolts into place.
Gave me a terrible fright it did.
I've a good mind to reinstate that sign at the bottom of the garden path - I can't help thinking it may contravene present day race relations laws though.
A few years ago, I went to answer a knock at the door to find an elderly couple in a state of some agitation. They explained that they had been walking but had lost their way and were anxious that they wouldn't make it back home to Bath in time for that evening's episode of Hearbeat and would I mind awfully if they came in and watched it on my TV.
My old man would have none of this when he was alive and had one of those "No hawkers, gipsies or purveyors of religious knowledge" signs afixed to the gate post at the bottom of the garden path and, as a last resort, he always kept a policeman's helmet on display inside the porch.
I found myself wishing these measures were still in place the other night When I was accosted on my doorstep by an old tinker woman who asked in a gravelly Irish brogue:
"Beggin' yer pardon mister, but I was wondering if you could help me out. Me little girl's just pappered her knickers and I was wondering if you might have a spare pair if it's not too much trouble that is".
I was just about to explain that that I didn't have much in the way of kids' undies when the 6'4" frame of her "little girl" darkened the entrance of my wisteria festooned porch clutching a can of Special Brew and leering menacingly at me.
I grabbed a pair of the wife's size 48s out of the laundry basket and sent them packing before shutting the door on them and slamming the security bolts into place.
Gave me a terrible fright it did.
I've a good mind to reinstate that sign at the bottom of the garden path - I can't help thinking it may contravene present day race relations laws though.
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