The Old Guy And His Stories

We were strolling between Sandown and Shanklin on the Isle of Wight.

The weather was glorious — sunny, warm, with a coastal breeze just strong enough to topple an ice cream if it didn’t have a Flake for ballast.

Along the path, we came across a group of elderly walkers. A mix of men who hadn’t stood up straight in years and women who’d made peace with their wrinkles.

They were standing in a circle, possibly because no one could remember which direction they were meant to be heading.

Each one was armed with walking poles — although in this lot’s case, they looked more like leaning poles. Or polite anti-fall devices.

As we approached, they did a slow sideways shuffle. Either to make room for us, or in the hope it might jog their memories.

Then I heard it.

Old Guy: “Ooh, I could tell you a story about that…”

One of the ladies, deadpan: “I bet you could. It’s like having bloody Jackanory around with you.”

Comedy gold.

I’ve no idea what he was about to share. But that’s the thing with snippets of conversation — they’re like lucky dips. Or group nouns you didn’t know existed. (Did you know a group of pugs is called a grumble?)

As we walked past in fits of laughter, I glanced back. The whole group was giggling too.

And standing in a circle. I wonder if they are still there?