After dropping the dog off in Perth, the three of us headed north and west for Mallaig, and our onward journey to the Hebrides. This was to be a special treat for my former colleague TF, who had never seen the Caribbean-white sand beaches and turquoise sea of the Western Isles. We couldn’t take the dog because TPR had booked a bed and breakfast in the islands that did not accept pets.
As we approached Mallaig, I noticed that a white-haired old lady in a battered white Skoda was following us. What was my demented 84 year-old mother doing at the wheel of my sister’s car? She hadn’t driven for years, and could not be possibly insured to undertake a 250+ mile road journey by car from Northumberland to the far north west of Scotland.
‘You can sort this out’, exclaimed TPR as he pushed me out of the front passenger seat onto the tarmac of Mallaig’s main car park. Then he and TF sped away to join the queue for the ferry.
I apprehended my mother, removed my sister’s car keys from her clutches, and checked her into a nearby hotel. If the other guests could keep an eye on her for just one night, I could perhaps still make it over to Harris and Lewis with TPR and TF. On my return, I would pick up my mother and drive her back to Northumberland in my sister’s car.
One significant problem remained. All my belongings, including my mobile phone, were in the car with TPR and TF. I had no way of communicating my plan to the others, of paying for my mother’s accommodation, nor of adding my name to my sister’s car insurance.
I crossed over the road from the hotel to the Mallaig branch of WH Smith. Here I enquired about the purchase of a cheap disposable phone. I was shocked to discover that the cheapest model cost £75!
As I was about to leave the shop, a kind man called Gilbert, who had also been in the queue at the electronics counter, approached me to say he had no further need for his phone. He dropped his brown leather-cased mobile into my hands.
Not only was I now in possession of a means to sort out my mother’s mess, but I had ready access to a pile of business cards and wallet photographs for entertainment. Gilbert started showing me the photographs of his late wife, his (recent) ex-wife, and his twin baby grand-daughters (one white, one black).
It was not long before I realised that Gilbert’s actions were not entirely altrustic. I suspected that he was either lining me up as wife number 3, or for employment as his next nanny.
Dreamaticus 