WORZEL WRITES… I shared a laugh with Godfrey, as we rambled about the city. Rambled arm in arm, it was a Monday.
Spring grass in the park was up and green, pathways still a bit muddy and wet, petting zoo not open yet. Lazy afternoons like this we would oft play a game, I called it Swan, Sweater, Train. Then we would play Godfrey’s game- 7 smells, “You must name 7 scents you smell best, between the Lady’s Toilet and bench where we sit a bit to rest”.
Ocean breeze, chip fat from a food truck, beer can by the rubbish bin, damp moss, Peacock shice that I stepped in, waft of passing Taxi Cab cigar, sweet, odd sense of impending spring snow, he could smell it in the sky, this I know.
” Swan, Sweater, Train, create a poem of 3 things you see when I spin you thrice about- without falling over” In all fairness, I must remark, that in retrospect we looked like dafties behaving oddly in a busy city park.
“Policeman watching us, ice-cream truck, elderly couple throwing crumbs to a duck. Four things if you include the crumbs and the cop…pondered Godfrey. “A nun in a hurry, a canoe being carried, couple just married being photographed, sun slanting down through cloud, under the budding Garry Oak tree, Godfrey laughed at me”
It is not an easy game, narrowing my field of vision down to three. We played a rousing 7 smells as we carried on our walk, “Earl Grey Tea, waffles, Mr Clean, fresh ground coffee beans, sat by the cafe’ fire- place to warm hands and talk. “Sweaty smell of old stuffed chair, hint of my shampoo I knew he pinched that morning in his hair”.
One more poem, it was Godfrey’s turn, nobody in the cafe’ was looking, all watched through the hole in the wall where old Carl was cursing and cooking. I spun him 3 times, he trod on both my feet, “Worzel’s rubber boots he poemed, day old paper, want ads missing folded neat, date square on a plate, under glass, special treat”
Yes, I shared a laugh with Godfrey as we rambled about the city. Middle-aged dafties, frequently behaving oddly, arm in arm we strolled, it was a Monday.
We had been to a Mid-morning house warming party, a valued luggage customer. Godfrey in his best kilt and 30 year old tie he used to hold his suitcase shut, wool, he gravely informed me, very durable. Most of the party guests crowded into the small apartment kitchen, to consume alcohol and make fun of our hostess, Miss Pauline Gertrude Fairchild Williams, who had served Bran Muffins.
I wall-flowered my way to her book corner to hide. Across the room was Godfrey, Muffin in hand, completely at ease with Miss Williams, discussing the heart break of tunnels in baked goods and their mutual dislike of beets. He was a rascal, a vagabond, he stole my heart, but oh how we did love..