Lines From Linda

Because of the climate change that is rapidly descending on our world, it has become apparent that September is no longer the first door into autumn. In recent years we have experienced extended, and beautiful, Indian summers. And given the temperatures we have already experienced this summer, I am expecting September will bring us lots of sunshine, and with that the desire to make the most of our open green spaces and parks before autumn really descends.

Disappointingly, these age-old rules of park closure times don’t seem to have changed, but when it is sunny the desire to stay on just that little longer in the day is often quite strong. Many a time have I found myself locked in a park or cemetery after an overstayed outing, and many a time have I had to embarrass myself by hurling my body over an iron or wooded gate to get to the road, (and more often than not in stilettos). I have ripped clothes, lost shoes, and a few scars to prove it. Not to mention the embarrassment of the hooting of passing cars as I hurl my backside toward the oncoming traffic. However, none of these embarrassing memories lives up to my late father’s worst ever faux pas. My father, at the time, was working as a toastmaster, which, we all know means wearing a bright red coat, heading functions,

banging a gavel to introduce guests as they arrive, then standing at the top table behind the host, to introduce toasts and speeches, and then invite the host and hostess to start the dancing. At one particular, very upmarket event, my father had done the intros, announced the toasts and invited the host and his lady to start the dancing, and the other guests to then join the floor. As he stood, alone at the top table, he was embarrassingly aware that his flies had come undone. He discreetly and speedily pulled the zip to up. Then, as his duty for the night was finished, he nodded and smiled at his host and turned to leave the room. As he stood, alone at the top " table, he was Unknown to him, when he pulled his flies up, embarrassingly aware that his flies had come undone he had actually zipped the table-cloth into his flies, so as he turned to walk away, the table cloth, then the crockery, the wine glasses and all the cutlery followed, landing around him with a ground-breaking crash, and causing every person in the room to turn to look. The poor man, stood, not only red-coated, but very red faced as the music stopped and five hundred faces were seeing a table-cloth trapped in his flies, and crockery, wine, and cutlery clinging to every part of his being. He didn’t invoice them for the job.

For more about me and my crime novels see www.lindareganonline.co.uk

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