Kenny calls round on a Friday morning, to say hello (especially to the children) and to pick up his pension. He worked for us for 22 years, from retirement until, at 87, he couldn’t manage it any longer. He is, in many ways, as well as he ever was, but he is in constant pain from his back and he can’t walk very well.
A few years ago, he started to use a mobility scooter. He let me ride it and I happily set off down the road. The (then) Rector drove past and I waved … the look of dismay on his face was wonderful and I arrived home to find an email asking what was wrong with me, that I needed an invalid chair.
Recently, Kenny bought a new nim cart, as they are called in our family (because they do not go vroom vroom, they go nim nim. Yes, all right). He let me drive it, which was most exciting. I went zooming down to the church and back, practising u-turns, wheelies and hand signals (yes, there are indicators, but using fingers is much more fun).
On my way back, Billy passed me in his own nim cart. He looked at me strangely. He probably thought I was travelling under false pretences.