Anyway.
I’m meeting The Big Fella down the line where he now lives. I’m passing through on business and, typically, I’m running a bit late.
Finding a car park in this particular location is not easy and I have to park what seems like a thousand miles from the pub we’ve arranged to meet at and walk the rest of the way.
I’m looking forward to catching up with my old pal.
I first met The Big Fella when I attended a football tournament in Blenheim way back when flowing locks were the “in” thing.
My team was attending the event for the first time and at the conclusion we all traipsed along to a large hall for the prizegiving and charity fundraising auction.
Now, we all wore club polo shirts and the done thing at this particular event was to swap shirts with an opposite. Being of ample size myself I had struggled to find an opponent of similar proportions so when I saw The Big Fella across the hall I marched straight over and made my swap offer.
He would, he said, be delighted.
So, there and then at the function I took off my shirt and offered it to him, expecting him to do the same. But he didn’t budge.
What I didn’t expect was a huge commotion. Whistles, shouting, a bell being rung and a siren going off. Within seconds an officious-looking gentleman appeared at my shoulder and informed me I would be fined at the upcoming auction for removing my shirt in the bar.
The Big Fella and his mates fell about laughing, happy in the knowledge the newbie had been well and truly stitched up.
I recall not being too worried. My fine would go towards a good cause and besides, I was still standing there offering the shirt to The Big Fella. I presumed he was a man of honour, would have to reciprocate and therefore would also be fined for taking his shirt off too.
I mentioned as much as the laughter at the table died down but instead of removing the shirt he was wearing The Big Fella reached down under the table and handed me a spare one he’d brought for just such an occasion.
Apparently, it was a common ruse among his lot and the entire table fell about laughing again, presumably at the look on my face.
Anyway, long story short, The Big Fella had me sit down and share an ale or three (or 27) with his team and we parted the best of mates.
Not three months later I found myself in a new town and joining a new football team. Guess who was first to stride across the field and offer a welcome? The Big Fella. We’ve been good mates ever since.
So, back to last week, I’m trotting along down the footpath at a brisk pace and there’s the bar I’m after across the street. Before I can even consider crossing a familiar figure comes into view on my left shoulder, sitting outside the bar opposite.
It’s The Big Fella, supping on a rather large beer with an even bigger smile on his dial.
Now, without giving too much away I’ll just say The Big Fella has gone through some tragic personal stuff in recent years and now lives alone, so to see such a huge, excited smile on that massive noggin of his is very welcome indeed.
What’s more, he is practically buzzing with excitement and can’t wait to fill me in on something that has happened.
For starters, yes he was expecting to meet me at the bar across the road. But then fate intervened.
He’d been at the supermarket and was going through one of those self-checkout setups when he noticed a $10 note left in the change pocket. Obviously someone had forgotten it.
The smart money was on the lady in the blue jacket he could see just then disappearing through the exit.
Being the sort of guy he is, The Big Fella paid for his stuff, grabbed the $10 note and went after her.
By the time he’d got outside he could see the lady crossing the road so he made the split-second decision to dump his groceries in his car and chase after her on foot.
As mentioned, like most of us of similar vintage, The Big Fella these days cannot hurtle along at breakneck speed - if in fact he/we of larger proportions ever could – but he kept up a steady pace and eventually got close enough to Blue Jacket Lady to call out to her.
The somewhat surprised lady stopped, ironically across the road from where The Big Fella and I were to meet an hour or so later, turned and listened to his explanation.
It seems she was both flabbergasted and flattered he had a) not simply pocketed the money as many would have done and b) run all this way after her as many would have not.
Unfortunately, the $10 note wasn’t hers, she said. She had paid via Eftpos. However, because The Big Fella had made such a noble effort to do the right thing she felt a reward was appropriate and offered to buy him a drink.
And that just happened to be the long-necked beer he was enjoying as I arrived. It seems The Big Fella and the lady had had a good old natter. She’d finished her water and left not long before I’d trotted up.
We agreed it would make sense to stay at this bar for our catch up and I went up and bought two fresh drinks. When I returned The Big Fella was still grinning like the proverbial Cheshire cat.
I assumed it was because he’d scored $10 but no. He was adamant he would be taking that back to the supermarket. A $10 note was a lot to some people, particularly in such challenging times.
It seems his schoolboy grin was down to something much more pleasurable to think about.
Blue Jacket Lady had given him her phone number and said she’d like to have coffee sometime.
