Mark offered to pick Martha up from the office.
‘I’ll be there at six,’ Mark confidently predicted.
But he put the wrong postcode into his satnav and turned up twenty minutes late.
‘You are a complete waste of both space and time,’ Martha ranted at him when he finally arrived.
My grandmother’s poor hearing made mincemeat of the obscene caller.
“You want to do what?” she shouted down the line. “You want to stick your what where? You’ve got a very big what? Ready for me? Well, I’ve not ordered anything. Don’t you try delivering anything here. I won’t pay for it, young man. I simply won’t.”
We bit on our knuckles and cried with laughter.
“I’ve already got double-glazing if that’s what you’re after. No, no, I’m not ready for you at all. Whatever gave you that idea? Who is your manager? Fool!” she said, slamming down the phone. “Trying to sell me something but I still don’t know what,” she said, returning to her armchair. “Why do young people always mumble these days?”
And all we could think of was the obscene caller’s escalating frustration.
The wise, old storyteller sat all the young people down around him in a circle to tell them the most horrifying story ever told.
“There was once this woman,” he began. “And she lived for a while. And she had a couple of children. And then, before she’d done half the things she meant to do with her life, she found she was old. And then,” he said, lowering his voice and speaking more slowly to maximize the impact of the ending, “she died. And experienced complete oblivion for all eternity. And after a few years it was as if she’d never existed at all.”
“But that’s not a proper ending,” one of the young people protested. “You said it was going to be terrifying. Where are all the zombies? Where are the ghosts? Just dying – that’s a really crap and miserable ending.”
“Exactly,” the storyteller said.