Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
The haunting of you shall be me
And love completely
But teardrops on the windowpane
Of experience this is youth.
And I passing through your life
Hope to stain that glass… with truth.
And leave it with you.
When I tell people of our experience with Ronnie, I admit that his stories do sound far-
fetched. Out of all the people in Carlisle, we happened to end up with a drunken hitman,
who was in his final weeks of life. Most people laugh and say that it sounds like a load of
bullshit. Ronnie's story, that is, not my version of events.
I don't consider myself a very gullible person. In fact, I tend to be very suspicious of
people. Especially those that I don't know. But in Ronnie's case I never doubted anything
he said. Looking back, this seems a little naïve.
I have been told on a couple of occasions since, that it is a classic sign of senility, that
people will have delusions about a fabricated heroic past. In a way, I hope that Ronnie was
justadelusionaloldmanandthatnoneofhisshockingpastlifeactuallyhappened.Iwould
becomforted,tosomeextent,ifitturnedouthehadspentmostofhisyearsholedupinthat
council flat tending to plants and listening to the radio.
Minutes after leaving Ronnie's we were caught out by a torrential downpour. The rain-
drops battered the road surface like machinegun fire, and within seconds the gutters were
full. The torrent of water elbowed its way down the high street looking for its escape. We
did the same, and found refuge in the doorway of a shop. The window was well stocked
with random household things, such as varnish and carriage clocks, but there was also a
random selection of bike accessories.
'Surely there are some bike bits we could ask for while we are here?' said Ben.
'Like what?'
'I don't know, but your bike is rubbish. It must need some new bits.'
'It probably does, but I've got no idea which bits would make it less rubbish if we re-
placed them.'
Ben stared at The Falcon as though the answer would appear to him at any moment.
'Hold on, I've got an idea. Wait there,' he said, propping his bike up and disappearing into
the shop.
I stood there wincing at the thought of him asking the bemused shopkeeper for a free
derailleur, tyre, brake cable or inner tube, just for the sake of it. He emerged from the shop
with a big grin on his face and two black bin bags in his hand.
'The latest in waterproof cycling gear,' he said.
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