Second Helpings

Mac For Life

It's hard to imagine this time last week my sister and I were enjoying every minute of our time in London. The older I get the more I analyse time, particularly how little control we have over it. Appreciating the moment, relishing the good times, taking time to smell the roses are all practices I attempt to apply to life, but still time rushes by and special times soon become blurry memories. I so wish days had stop, pause and rewind buttons.

Our four days involved a lot of activity, marathon walks, many laughs, too many late nights and calories. The weather forecast for our day at Wimbledon was horrendous. Torrential showers, hail, thunder and lightening and the prospect of very little tennis. For once, luck was on our side and the weather forecasters should be sacked. We spent a wonderful day at the tennis, bathed in glorious sunshine and watched some entertaining matches.

Saturday dawned grey and threatening. We walked into Wimbledon in the hope of maybe joining the queue for another day of tennis, but alas the rain arrived and there was little point going to the courts. Sis had a lightweight hooded jacket, but I only had an umbrella which was hardly sufficient protection against the heavy downpours. By midday I was cold, wet and with no let up in the rain I decided the only thing to do would be to hunt out and buy a raincoat similar to my sisters.

The shopping centre had nothing, the stores on the Main Street only stocked heavyweight expensive gear and I was just getting wetter and colder. In desperation we hunted in several charity shops and eventually found a grotty little black mac in a sack, though the sack was missing. But it was lightweight, waterproof and had a hood so at this stage it would have to do. I took it to the counter and was quite shocked to be charged five pounds. I've sold quality goods on eBay for less than that.

We ventured back out onto the streets, me now wearing my glamorous new garment and decided we needed a drink. The rain continued, but as soon as we left the pub it stopped. Sis declared it must be a lucky mac and forbade me to take it off. We travelled back to the hotel and started packing for our journey home the next day. I intended to leave the mac, now christened Melissa ( that's another long, funny story) in the hotel room, but my wind up merchant of a sister kept saying it was definitely a lucky mac and I should keep it. If I left it behind maybe I'd have bad luck and regret it for the rest of my days. . She even played on my sensitive nature by suggesting it would be cruel to leave the room next morning waving goodbye forever to Melissa while wishing her a nice life.

So, seeing as she was so keen to keep the ruddy, horrible thing I wrapped it in a carrier bag and hid it in her case while she was in the bathroom, but you can't get one over on my sister. When I finally arrived home and found time to unpack my case there was Melissa in all her grubby black glory. She's now residing in a black bag out of sight, but I know I won't dare get rid of her or put her in a charity bag for fear of my sister's teasing.

I do know that if I ever go to Wimbledon again I won't be taking Melissa, but will ensure I take a decent, clean and fashionable raincoat in order to avoid a repeat of the situation and being forced to come home with a sibling of Melissa.