Week Off - Day 2: The Terminator

We went to visit Cathy in her new flat in Bury today. It's really lovely. She made us a terrific vegetable tart.

But today's blog has to be about something else.

Because I have to mention the guy I saw at the end of our street.

There are roadworks on the road at the end of our estate, blocking the exit to Union Road. Over the past few days, there have been guys in day-glo workman's jackets directing traffic. I don't think they're with the council, or whoever it is who is digging up the road. They look more like they are working for Oswaldtwistle Mills, directing people into the car park as a kind of sign to show they're still open for business and accessible to all those guilded consumers. They wait idly for an approaching elderly couple in a car and then point absently at an empty parking space.

But today's guy was different. Today's guy strutted.

Today's guy wore a jacket that boldy declared "Security" across the back. Today's guy looked mean.

Today's guy was...

The Terminator.

We set off from home to go to pick up Christina ready to head off to Cathy's pad. There he was standing importantly in the centre of the junction at the end of the street, boldly challenging all traffic.

He noticed my car as I drove up Orchard Drive. He spun urgently and dashed over with an air of facist importance, the metal rims of his sunglasses glinting in the bright glare. As I approached he slowed his pace then stopped. He expression changed slowly into a knowing smile. He gave me one of those man-to-man looks like we had a shared secret; sort of an "I know who you are!" grin. Then he continued nodding slowly at me as I drove out onto Moscow Mill Street.

I imagined him thinking,

"That was a close one! He nearly got me then. But don't worry. He's one of us. That guy's on our side. Go get 'em tiger".

I checked in my rear view mirror, he was still watching us and grinning proudly. I almost expected to see him salute as we drove away. Maybe he'd then put his hand to his ear, listen to some coded message being piped in through a secret headset and then dart off randomly. Protecting who knows what from the not sure who.

Tonight I will sleep soundly in my bed knowing that The Terminator is confidently guarding Moscow Mill Street; pacing back and forth in Ossy Mills car park.

Keep it up, soldier.