There I was, in the hospital, when the bloke in the next bed arrived… Hmmm.
Solid (there are some looseheads in Milford Haven who should consider themselves VERY lucky that he wasn’t into rugby), glowering (think dark brown accordian bellows), tattooed (very), pierced (many), ponytail (long) – 35 year old biker man.
Not too much in the way of smiley smiley.
Well, The Wife had just left me in charge of a large bag of Opal Fruits which we had just divvied out amongst on the 6-bed ward.
Now, I said, we’ve just had an opal fruit fest. Would you like one?
He looked over with a slightly lessened glower. No thanks, don’t like ‘em. He half turned away, paused and looked back. 'I notice you’ve got Jelly Babies, though, mate…'
I don’t willingly give my Jelly Babies away to anybody, but he then said ‘I may be tempted by a black one, if that’s ok, like, please…’
He looked so longingly at the Jelly Babies. But trying to open the packet was something of a palaver – him with right elbow freshly plated, me with no sensation in my right arm from neck down.
It took two grown men nearly 3 and a half minutes to get the bludi packet open. (We were very conscious of the content-explosion than can take place with these things, if you know what I mean).
Aaaahhhhh! Lovely.
He turned out to be a really sound bloke. A Nautical Engineer, he had worked on rigs, pipelines and ferries. He even helped me butter my toast the next morning. Funny, gentle and really decent.
Just goes to show you never can tell.