Last night

Last night on my way to pick up Johnnie I dropped a small peachy trifle into the gargantuan hands of King Henry. 'Thanks m'dear' he whispered.
My spirits crashed.
Not because he was less than appreciative but on account of the state of the kitchen.
I'd left it perfect. But now there were take-away cartons, festering plates with dried-up fried rice, numerous pieces of cutlery, boozy glasses and stinking filled ashtrays. I smiled though as I slumped because
I'd done my bit earlier and if he allows his daughter and boyfriend to treat his home like a dump then that's his business not mine.

So as the aforementioned daughter and boyfriend slopped in the front room I stared into Henry's sad eyes. Here is a man so pumped up on drugs and booze that it's a miracle he knows who he is any more.
I felt for him.

A big bolshie social animal whose idea of humour is continuous innuendo, no wonder we get along so well! The difference between Henry and I is that I know when to stop. As the evening birds flitted on the perfect lawn he suggested I get 'more involved' in church activities. I declined and put his melting butter back in the fridge.
'You're a caring person Angela'.
My raised eyebrows thanked him.
'You'd look better without the beard' I said
'You too'.

I went to pick up Johnnie...