Generally speaking life has travelled along at a pace with which I'm comfortable just lately. However all that changed last weekend when the wife and I went to visit a friend in Conwy.
It's a small, walled town with a disproportionate number of pubs. As you can imagine this latter fact is one which pleases me; the wife is a little less enthusiastic. It's not much of an issue because the friend we go to see is an increasingly rare species of female i.e. one who is as happy with a pint in her hand as she is with a mascara brush. Because the wife is outnumbered in these circumstances we tend to find ourselves spending the weekend sampling the brewers delights of this friendly place. This time the weather was good and we were able to sit on the quay, outside the Liverpool Arms, drinking large quantities of draught Bass (that's beer for those that don't recognise it) and watching the activity in the harbour. You know the kind of thing; boats coming and going, tide in tide out, seagulls attacking chip-bearing tourists and all the while each of us commenting on the inappropriate/unusual dress sense displayed by people who should know better. Why is it that being on holiday provokes people into wearing clothes that they wouldn't otherwise be seen dead in? For example, the elderly man (late 60's) wearing a pair of shorts that were so short it was anatomically miraculous that his testicles were not banging about below the hemline for all the world to see. My friend, by way of an explanation, did offer that despite the sunshine there was a keen wind blowing and maybe the coolness of the climate was having a shrinking effect - not on the shorts but on his testicles! At a slightly different level, and bear in mind this is a harbour - seagull crap, fishy things, meandering tourists with screaming children, candy floss and boat trips up the Conwy Valley - a forty-something lady holding tightly onto her partner's arm, came tip-tapping past in a red designer jacket that would have looked better in Bath, very high heels (you know the sort that make calf muscles bulge like baked potatoes), and an extremely tight knee length pencil skirt. The daft woman could barely walk let alone dodge the bird shit and rampant children running around with hooks, reels of string and buckets as they searched for non-existent crabs. Didn't she bring a change of clothes or did she just get off at the wrong station? Well we were on our holidays so we exchanged furtive glances, giggled and looked out for the next source of our amazement.
Strangely enough, though we sat there for quite a long time - forcing a siesta before the cocktail hour at 6 - nothing else really remarkable came along. This is best explained by suggesting that we were becoming immune to what the tourist population of Conwy was able to throw at us. I am not going to describe the individual, from Conwy or nearby, who came and sat at our table and suddenly engaged us in conversation. To do so would be unkind. Suffice to say, by that time we were pissed (respectably so) and she was clearly, barking mad. Enough said.
The following day was really the highlight of the weekend. I have a photograph but it doesn't tell the whole story so I shall describe it. When it comes to being completely "thrown" by the activities of some people, this one really takes the biscuit. We were once again people watching in the same location. And, once again, we had sharpened our powers of observation using thirst-quenching methods to assist the local economy. During a lull, my wife said, "Oh my God, look at that child's ears." You can imagine this is enough to make one sit up sharply. I looked and saw nothing; our friend looked and saw nothing. "There in the pink pushchair", said No. 1 observer. We looked. We said, "No. It can't be." I said, "I've seen it all now. She must be f****** mad!" What we were looking at, bear in mind that the weather was a little cool, with the very occasional drizzly shower (the kind you don't really need a coat for unless you are in danger of dissolving) was a woman dressed in a pink jacket and dark pink trousers, pushing a child's pushchair, also pink and completely sealed up with the rain proof clear plastic cover. Inside the pushchair was not a child, but (justifying my wife's mistake) a small white dog! Now just in case that hasn't had the impact it should have, build the image for yourself. We are sitting outside a pub watching the tourists go up and down when along comes a lady (40's) dressed in pink, pushing a pink, child's pushchair containing a dog. Apart from the obvious, she looked normal enough. She wasn't trying to attract attention. There was no-one handing out leaflets so it wasn't a publicity stunt. She was, to all other intents and purposes, perfectly normal. Except she wasn't, was she?
We left Conwy the following day, with very little else on our minds. I still haven't got over it. But then, what do I know.
