Pointing Incredulously With My Mittens

On a quiet slope of Hampstead Heath we eat cheese and pickle sandwiches and have a bit of a snog. This is D’s reward for having spent a good part of the morning trailing after me while I look for a Saxon ditch. I’m not convinced we ever found it and to be honest, now that D’s actually lying on top of me with his hand up my jumper, I don’t care very much. I just pull up the furry hood of my anorak and wrap my mittened hands around his waist.

It’s at this point that the man with a Jack Russell on a lead walks past.

“Excuse me! Excuse me, I’m sorry to interrupt.” D sits up, his hand still up my jumper. The man smiles at me, “Sorry.”

“I hope you don’t mind me asking,” he continues, addressing D, “but is that a Zapata moustache?”

D fingers it and explains that it will be eventually and he’s growing it for Movember, which is a charity event in support of prostate cancer… And they’re off chatting. Man with dog remembers having a Zapata moustache in the 1970s. No, D hasn’t grown a moustache before but he occasionally sports a beard. Man with dog had a neighbour who had prostate cancer, he was a friend of Francis Bacon. Oh, D's mother once had a terrific row with Francis Bacon...

After some minutes, man with dog waves cheerily and heads off towards Parliament Hill. D smiles down at me, “Wasn’t he nice?”

I point incredulously with my mittens at D’s hand, still resting on my left boob inside my jumper. After a moment he focuses on the problem. “Oh, sorry love.”

Comments

[Damien Elset]

Love your blog Lucy. Any chance you might post some pictures sometime to go along with your writing?

[lookieloo]

Everyone keeps asking this! Go back to Sept/Oct/dec 07 and you'll find the reason she doesn't post pics anymore

[Damien Elset]

I've read through those months and I can't find anything. My apologies if this has been answered repeatedly before - I just didn't know.