In which I demand of a defenceless old man how he likes those apples

Every day for the last six months, I've walked Wilson the dog up to the Bummy Woods morning and evening. And virtually every day I've run into an old chap who lives around the corner, who goes to the woods for his evening (and morning) constitutional.

Every time I meet him, I wish him a good day, and every time he has completely blanked me. Six months, and not a peep out of him.

I'll admit that this has become and obsession, and I have now made a point of offering him a hearty "Good morning", "Good evening" or "Quite the weather we're having, eh?" every time our paths cross.

And every time he blanks me.

Until yesterday.

Up the Bummy Woods with Wilson, and there he is. He approaches, and - a miracle - he is the first with the greeting, a meek yet Earth-shattering "Hello".

So I blanked the old fart.

I blanked him, and walked away with a glow of triumph.

And I turn, and from the safety of several hundred yards, I ask of him:

"How do you like them apples, eh? HOW DO YOU LIKE THEM APPLES?"


I am the worst person in the world.

The battle continues.