6th January 2007 Today Atkins Down The Road and I played Blind Men, which is one of our daft games. We often play daft games, much as children do. We like to think it keeps us young. In fact I remember playing Blind Men as a child; however the adult version of the game is a bit more refined, as are Atkins and I.
We usually travel to Stockport in order to play it as weâ€™re too well known in our own little town and probably wouldnâ€™t get away with it.
It went off as usual. Armed with white sticks we stood at opposite sides of a busy street, facing the traffic, as if waiting for someone to help us across the road. And as usual someone soon did. Quite often someone will stop to help me before someone stops to help Atkins, or vice versa, and when this happens we take delaying action by engaging them in conversation, such as â€œYouâ€™re sure thereâ€™s nothing coming are you because I wouldnâ€™t like to be knocked over.â€ or â€œCan you hold on a minute Iâ€™m going to sneeze.â€ That sort of thing.
However today we got a willing helper at the same time. We each set off on our journey across the road, tapping our white sticks on the road the while, then, when we met in the centre of the road we shrugged off the guiding hands of our helpers, brandished our white sticks high in the air as though they were swords, and took up fencing stances.
â€œOn guard, you French scum,â€ I demanded of Atkins.
â€œSacre bleu, you weel soon feel the cold steel of my sword you Eenglish pigdog!â€ retorted Atkins.
Then we started fencing. It stopped the traffic of course and a sizeable crowd soon gathered as usual. < BR>Actually weâ€™re getting quite good at it now; not to the standard of Douglas Fairbanks Junior and Errol Flynn maybe but certainly as good as Kevin Costner when he was Robin Hood, so we put on quite a decent show. Then after a couple of minutes or so we packed it in and just walked off before we got into trouble with Plod.
Atkins once suggested that after a minute or soâ€™s fencing we should go round with the hat but I managed to talk him out of it; Iâ€™m not hard up enough yet to resort to begging. Â
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