Friday, July 20, 2018

Just one of those things...well two!

I think that life had one last little game to play with me before the big decision to go part time at work. On the Sunday of my last week of working 70 hours instead of a forty hour week ( what will I do with all that spare time? Write books perhaps?)

At two pm on the Sunday we got a phone call from the cleaner at work to say that the practice had been broken into. ( In Scotland we have no crime of burglary- it’s house breaking or breaking in to property). It was a real Italian job stuff, they burrowed in to come up through the floor of one of the treatment rooms, lifting a heavy plinth and a desk from underneath the floor ( there must have been about three of them) and then stole the petty cash box. By then the alarm had gone off and they had exited the premises the way they came in.

Afterwards we worked out that it had taken them about a week to break in and for the amount they got, they would be better off, payment by hour, working in Asda/Walmart.

So there was much hanging around for the police and then the next day for the csi guys. Of course all the patients all thought it was a crime writer’s joke and kept telling the scene of crime fingerprinter that he was very convincing!

Anyway, we drove home at 9pm after waiting 6 hours for the cops to turn up, having had no food and not being able to touch anything! Or even watch the tour de France! We turned up the main road through the village, houses on the left, the tall wall that houses the railway embankment on the right, that road is a long slow climb …. not much going on but we passed a girl sitting with her back against the wall, holding her head, legs out in front of her, head down.

It’s past nine on a Sunday night… the light was waning but still bright enough.
What would you do?
She wasn’t sitting at a bus stop. She looked in distress of some kid, age? Anything between mid teens to forty.

We drove up to the next junction , U-turned and came back. The car in front pulled up beside her… words were exchanged. My other half thought it ok to drive on as somebody else had stopped. I said pull right up behind him, he’s a man on his own.

There was an exchange of words and the car in front pulled off at great speed and did a U-turn, back the way he came when our car pulled in behind his.
She was sobbing her heart out.

So I roll down the window;
‘Are you ok?’
‘Are you ill?’
‘Are you drunk?’
‘Aye but no pished, just had a few.’
‘So why are you so upset?’
‘Ma man’s dumped me.’
‘Oh is that all. Where are you trying to get to?’
‘Ma hoose.’
‘And where’s that?’
‘Johnstone, ah live wi ma maw.’
‘I looked at HWMBI who nodded
‘Ok,’ I said to her, ‘are you a serial killer?’ I think it’s best to be careful.
‘Nae,’ she said, ‘ahm a hair dresser!’

So we ran her home. It was a mile out of our way. We got the full story. She was 29, the boyfriend was 21. His mother was saying she wasn’t well but that only because the lassie herself wisnae well… that was a recurring theme of her distress.

She repeatedly said she was going home to kill herself.
I advised her to have a cup of tea, some toast and a chat with her mum first. Her man and her had been going out with each other for six months but had not spoken for the last four and he texted her and dumped her while she was out with her pal.

I think the modern speak for that is, ‘it’s complicated’.

HWMBI got a fright when she gave him a hug from the back of the car and a big kiss on the cheek. She tried the same with me, I reminded her that her mum would be waiting.
So she gets out the car and toddles of up the close.

‘So what book is she going into?’HWMBI asks.

Indeed. An every day story, except who was in that other car- she told me twice that she did not know him. What was their intent\?

And why was there that little delay? The way she answered questions, simply and honestly almost child like for a woman nearly 30. just a wee something that wasn’t at all the way it should be.

And then there was the wig, not a fashion statement, an alopecia ‘I’ve lost all my hair’ wig.

So, as they ask, where do you get your ideas from?

Well right there!

This post was devoid of pics as I am in the middle of a field. deep in Inspector Morse country with very little Wifi signal.
So, as they say, this will be continued...


  1. What an absolutely riveting post, Caro. Can't wait for the next installment.

    BTW, ordinarily I hate reading dialect. But when you do it I understand it. And according to Ancestry, I am 0% Scottish!!

  2. You're just too cool, and HWMBI is a regular hotty! Together, you turn the simplest of evenings into a storm front!