My little adventure in Brighton (see yesterday's blog, 'Almost a night on a bear mountain), where I narrowly avoided a night of bare mounting due to my uncanny resemblance to gay icons such as George Clooney (when I'm dressed in a wet anorak and seen from a distance in the dark), showed me how threatened attractive women must often feel when they walk alone in deserted streets.
My protagonist readily accepted my courteous refusal of his kind proposal, aided no doubt by my 6ft.4in. of bone and muscle and a really ugly scowl, but a petite female in similar circumstances might not be so lucky.
I suppose girls get used to it and have a number of ploys at their disposal. I was very impressed by a true story I heard when I was attending a medical conference in Cairo. One of the delegates was a small but perfectly formed lady doctor who was walking alone along the banks of the Nile, when she was accosted by a large Arab, who parted his djellaba in classic 'dirty grey raincoat' style to reveal his true intentions. Annie simply opened her handbag, fished out her reading specs, put them on, peered closely and then said disdainfully 'And is that the best you can do?'
Fortunately his English was good enough for him to feel totally humiliated and he fled.
Unlike the wee virgin who was once carrying a basket of eggs home from the market when she met the adventurer-poet Robert Burns on a lonely mountain path in the Scottish Highlands. She recognized him immediately from his manly swagger and his beautiful jaunty sporran. 'Are ye the famous Rabbie Burns?' she asked in some trepidation. 'Aye, I am that lassie' came the proud reply. 'Oh dear' she said breathlessly 'And are ye the terrible man they say y'are, that goes round the country seducing young women and then having his wicked way with them no matter how much they resist and call for help'. 'Aye, well it has been known to happen in the heat of the moment'. 'Och, ye wicked man, ye'd best just wait a second while I find a safe place to put down my basket'.
Which reminds me of the Burns story about him getting lost. He was put up by a friendly shepherd and his lovely daughter. The only place to sleep was on the floor. His daughter gets up in the night and joins him on the floor (it never happens to me)and the father catches them and remonstrates with her to arch her back so as not to let the gentlemen's balls get cold. Which is just a round about way to say I enjoy your writing (thanks Ali) and will be purchasing your book soon. Best Regards
ReplyDeleteWally
All these stories about my national Bard - all terrible lies!!
ReplyDeleteTook Sonshine to Alloway Kirk along with a couple of friends last year (actually on Hallowe'en) where we recited bits of Tam O'Shanter. We chased him over the bridge in the dark, pretending we were the witches trying to catch Meg's tail.
Bit of a bad result - he then refused to go to bed unless he was cuddled in with me.
Ali x