“Hi Rob, can you help us.”
“A hot chocolate perhaps?” methinks, apparently quite naively.
“Can you tie ******’s shoe laces up he has got a very important meeting at school today.”
****** looks mortified. He is far too old not to be able to tie his own laces. He tries to hide his face behind his adolescent fringe but his mum has made him cut it off.
“Are you fucking joking?” my brain screams in a hoarse, red-faced way but I find myself on my haunches face to face with a pair of shiny brown boots, a pair of mustard and maroon school socks and a pair of grazed knees. A school boy stuck five decades in the past.”Expensive education,” methinks.
I tidy the spaghetti of laces into a neat bow and stand to admire the fruits of my foot bondage.
“Do the other one would you darling,” she said in a way both throughly demeaning and impossible to refuse. “And do hurry, we are terribly late.”
“But it’s already tied.”
I do as I’m told and am still on the ground when they leave. I feel a bit soiled.