Christmas Kerfuffle – A seasonal short story.
Bill Kermode enjoyed living in the quiet backwater that was Furzedown, a south London suburb. Every street made an effort with their Christmas decorations and most of the residents were friendly and if not, they did not seem too mad but you could never be so sure with Care in the Community. There was the odd eccentric as in any community and then those on their mobility scooters. There was one ahead on that Christmas Eve when he was walking back from the cafe on Tooting Common.
It was a wine-red cart that looked like a cross between Noddy’s car and a Vespa scooter. There was a wire basket at the front, crammed with bags. She must be getting ready for Christmas the lovely, old dear. She was riding on the road and Bill, being a considerate chap slowed his pace so she would not have to stop for him at the zebra crossing that was just before the roundabout. She whizzed past, clasping the handlebars as her wiry, stainless steel hair was brushed by the wind and she skidded to a screeching halt behind a car that wanted to drive through the roundabout. Having to wait for all the traffic on Thrale Road to go past, ‘priority a droite’, the driver was too slow to move for the lovely old lady.
Pressing her horn savagely she glared at the lights of the car head. The sound was an electric buzzer, an entry-phone announcement that pedestrians could hear but not cars. After all those scooters were designed for pavements.
Pausing at the pedestrian crossing, no other cars were visible, he suddenly had a south Londoner’s urge to help the situation.
“He has to let the traffic through on his right,” explained Bill kindly.
Immediately, she turned towards him, a sour expression painted on her face, just above her double-chin.
“You mind your own business, I.m in a hurry,” she grumbled loudly, staring it at him with blazing eyes.
“You mind your own business by not hooting your horn,” he replied, feeling pleased with his retort. He wanted to add the words: ‘ you old crone’.
He had been feeling Christmasy but the exchange left him denuded as a person, frustrated and disappointed.
“Why?” he wondered in a whispering voice as she shot off, not waiting for the cars on her right, “are people all so impatient.”
Confidently, he crossed the zebra crossing, the road was clear.
“Christmas will come in time and we will celebrate. You will finish your journey before it’s too late,” he mumbled to himself under his breath, pleased with his little ditty.
Who was he kidding?
Sadly, he lived in the seething city, there was no comfort and joy in the sprawling streets, the soaring skyscrapers and the terrible traffic. Goodwill to all men finished at the south-circular road, the periphery, he had not found his sanctuary.
