I laughed today. I laughed out loud. I couldn't help myself.
I was walking down Victoria Street, the curved street that leads down into the Grassmarket. You know it, it has a sandwich shop with a dead pig in the window and an antique book shop.
Yes, that street.
Anyway, up the street came an Aston Martin V12 Vantage, the kind of car James Bond had in Die Another Day. This one wasn't invisible, though it *was* a convertible and had its roof down. Bitter as I am, I began to imagine in my mind what kind of WANKER was driving the car. I imagined a a young Duke of someplace. I imagined a Spanish football player, maybe with a supermodel in the passenger seat. I imagined that fat man who won the Euromillions and still can't help the fact that his head looks like a thumb.
The driver was none of those.
Behind the wheel was the oldest man I've ever seen, surely in his 90s and barely big enough to look over the wheel. He squinted at the street ahead of him with eyes that were almost closed. His skeletal fingers were covered in gold rings and he wore the BIGGEST fur coat I've ever seen. It looked a bear was trying to swallow him.
I don't know where he was going. Maybe he was away to a fox hunt, or to buy the whole of Aberdeen. At his age, he may have been on his way to his own funeral. I couldn't help but laugh at the whole situation. Out loud.
But then I thought, fuck it, fair play to the old chap. You can't take it with you. Spend your money while you can. Blow it all on fur coats and gold rings and £150,000 cars. To hell with the grandkids, they can earn their own money.
You go, grandpa.
I was walking down Victoria Street, the curved street that leads down into the Grassmarket. You know it, it has a sandwich shop with a dead pig in the window and an antique book shop.
Yes, that street.
Anyway, up the street came an Aston Martin V12 Vantage, the kind of car James Bond had in Die Another Day. This one wasn't invisible, though it *was* a convertible and had its roof down. Bitter as I am, I began to imagine in my mind what kind of WANKER was driving the car. I imagined a a young Duke of someplace. I imagined a Spanish football player, maybe with a supermodel in the passenger seat. I imagined that fat man who won the Euromillions and still can't help the fact that his head looks like a thumb.
The driver was none of those.
Behind the wheel was the oldest man I've ever seen, surely in his 90s and barely big enough to look over the wheel. He squinted at the street ahead of him with eyes that were almost closed. His skeletal fingers were covered in gold rings and he wore the BIGGEST fur coat I've ever seen. It looked a bear was trying to swallow him.
I don't know where he was going. Maybe he was away to a fox hunt, or to buy the whole of Aberdeen. At his age, he may have been on his way to his own funeral. I couldn't help but laugh at the whole situation. Out loud.
But then I thought, fuck it, fair play to the old chap. You can't take it with you. Spend your money while you can. Blow it all on fur coats and gold rings and £150,000 cars. To hell with the grandkids, they can earn their own money.
You go, grandpa.
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