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Sunday, 26 June 2011

Summer Holiday

“One needs to enter sobriety gradually…” he explained in clipped tones.  “Entering a state of reality too suddenly can create problems.” 

I could see by his shopping basket, he meant this.  One large bar of chocolate, a large bag of crisps and a bottle of supermarket own brand malt.

“I’ve been on holiday for a month in Toronto and drank nothing but Crown Royal XR,”  he guffawed,   “A good attempt by the colonies at a whisky.”

He must have been in his seventies, dressed in jacket and cravat; one eye bloodshot.
“I bet the weather was better than here”, I mumbled back, looking out of the large supermarket window to the dreich summer Glasgow street.

“Oh, it was something the same.  We are on the same latitude, you know.” 

He unpacked his basket and smiled sadly, “Not that I saw much of the weather.  I looked after the grandchildren and sat on the veranda at night, talking to my daughters and their family.”

“I always think it is nice to come home from a trip, even though it might have been great!” I said as I unpacked my trolly.

He laughed and paid the man behind the till.

“No, dear boy.  It is damn sad.”  He lifted his plastic bag and walked out into his lonely evening entertainment.

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