The Greig Street Bridge

I decided to walk into town for my pre-counselling interview. My leg was pain free but a walk I used to do in 25 minutes took 40  minutes. I was in plenty of time but was informed that the lady I was to see had been called away. They had emailed me to say. (They hadn’t.) Never mind I thought, I’ll go for a beer. The Black Isle Bar looked as if three coach parties of Bulgarian tourists had descended on it. Wetherspoons looked like the saloon of a sinking ship, so I went to The Phoenix and got sour beer. (This can happen with cask conditioned ale.) Then I knocked a glass of it over. I was now thinking, get the cards I need, have a wee shop and get the bus home.
      I was stopped in my tracks by this guy who often seems to talk about the first thing that has come into his head. His mother had died he said, and his father who had three types of cancer and something else wrong wth him had died as well. I told him I was sorry to hear that. There was an awkward pause and then he said: ‘I’m going to a funeral tomorrow.’ It was of someone who used to work in the market. Did I know the person? All of this was delivered in a disarmingly cheerful manner as if he was talking about the price of fish. I said: ‘I’m just going into Oxfam to buy some cards. Quite  suddenly he turned and walked away.