The Park Crescent Diary.

The Park Crescent Diary.

Entry Nº1

Now I've got a computer, I've promised to write a diary entry every day. My granddaughter calls it blogging, whatever that maybe. Still it doesn't matter what it's called as long as I can get on with it.

You know it's going to be one of those days when things start going wrong the minute you put your foot out the bed. Today was one of those days.

I was drinking my tea this morning when the door bell rang. I was still in my nightie and as you can't be too careful these days, I had a peep through the nets to see who it was. There was a young man, dressed to the nines in a pin-striped suit, standing on the step.

There's something about men in suits which really gets my post-menopausal hormones going. It was my seventieth birthday last week and I wondered if my friend Maisie had splashed out on one of those male strippers, though I've never heard of them doing a door to door service. Truth is, Maisie's pretty tight, so I discounted that idea more or less straight-away.

He was at least six foot two and blonde. Now, I normally like my men dark, but when you get past a certain age you tend to stop being so choosy. I had another peep and decided he looked more like a double glazing salesman. I've had bi-focals for the last ten years, so he won't be getting much out of me. Still, he was very good-looking. I unbuttoned the top of my dressing gown, squared my shoulders and thought, I'll see if I can get him to come in.

“Good morning, madam,” he said as I opened the door. “I'm from Meals on Wheels and have just stopped by to see if there's anything you need.”

“How about a quick snog?” I asked him. I'd have been better asking him if he had the right address, but it amused me at that time of the morning.

By the look on his face, I could tell he thought he hadn't heard me right, so I puckered up and fluttered my eyelids at him to make sure he got the idea. He went a very strange shade of pink. Try harder, Mary, I thought, leaning against the door jamb in my most provocative pose and flashing him a view of my cleavage. Well, to be honest, I exposed the place where my cleavage used to be. These days it'd be more accurate if I lifted the hem of my dressing gown and showed him the area just above my knees. It was very strange, but by then, even his ears had gone a peculiar shade of red.

“We're st..st...starting to deliver afternoon t...t...teas to the elderly in this area. Would you like us to bring you some?” It was strange how he suddenly started stuttering.

“Well, I do like a bit of tongue...”

I was going to say in my sandwich, but he was up the garden path that fast I wondered if he'd left skid marks in his britches.

He didn't even close the gate on his way out and I had to go and do it. There's nothing like poncing up and down the path in your flannelette at half-past eight in the morning to get the neighbours talking.

I watched him climb into his car with a certain pang of disappointment. Looks like my pulling power isn't what it used to be. Not that Jack, who lives down the road at number forty-six, would necessarily agree.

I did a twirl on my way back up the path, just in case the nosey old cow over the road was peeping through her letterbox. It wasn't until I got back to the house and was shutting the door, I realised I'd forgotten to put my teeth in.