It was grand out, one of those May mornings when the sun was shining, the birds were singing and the gardens were full of spring flowers. Earlier Bob Metcalf had called on his old mate John Simpson and as usual when the weather was fine, they were taking a mid morning stroll around the town, before taking a walk through the park and on to the Red Lion for a pint before lunch.
‘I’m a bit worried about old Geordie,’ said Bob.
‘Geordie?’ enquired John.
‘Aye, you know who I mean, old Geordie Green, three doors up.’
‘Oh, that Geordie, the one with the gammy knees.’
‘It’s not just his knees, the poor old sod’s rife with the rheumatism.’
‘He’s not that old you know, he’s only a year or so older than me, beside I’ve got a touch of the old rheumatism myself.’
‘Oh, you’d have to have something wrong with you as well.’
‘Are you incinerating that I haven’t got rheumatism?’
‘No, I know you’ve got rheumatism, but we were talking about Geordie’s rheumatism and it’s much worse than yours. Have you seen how long it takes him to sit down?’
‘Aye, I suppose your right, but mine hurts as well.’
‘It’s not just his knees, his memory’s going as well, poor old bugger.’
‘Who?’
‘Geordie, the one we’ve been talking about for the last five minutes.’
‘Oh, aye, I passed him in the park on Tuesday. No, I tell a lie it was Monday…or was it Wednesday? … well, whenever, and he was talking to his mate Tomo.’
‘See, that’s what I mean, he’s losing it, Tomo’s been dead for over a year now.’
‘Who has?’
‘Tomo.’
‘Oh, Aye.’
Their circuit of the town complete, they turned into the park gates and were heading for the boating lake when Bob came to a sudden stop. ‘Oh, my God, he’s gone completely gaga.’
‘Who?’ asked John and then exclaimed. ‘Oh, aye.’ As his eyes followed Bob’s pointing finger.
There at the other side of the boating lake was the man they’d been talking about, Geordie Green. He was sitting on one of those little folding stools, with a fishing rod in his hand and his line cast into the middle of a large circular flowerbed.
‘Now what’re we going to do? We can’t just leave him sitting there,’ said Bob.
‘I’d tell him not to be so daft and to bugger off home.’
‘No, that would be cruel. We’ll ask him to come for a pint.’
‘Good morning, Geordie,’ said Bob, when they reached the seated figure.
‘It is that,’ replied Geordie.
‘It’s thirsty work fishing when it’s hot and we were wondering if you fancied coming for a pint?’
‘Aye, I wouldn’t mind,’ said Geordie and before you could say, Red Lion, he had folded his stool, reeled in his line, closed his telescopic rod and was ready to go.
When they reached the Red Lion, Bob and John got the beers in and they sat at a table. Geordie took a sip of the dark brown brew, smacked his lips and said, ‘By that’s a grand drop of stuff.’
‘Aye, the landlord keeps a good pint of ale in here,’ said Bob.
They quaffed their pints in silence for a while and then John decided to humour old Geordie, ‘Did you catch many today, Geordie?’ he asked.
