Tracy’s Daily Doings. Thursday

Tracy’s Daily Doings. Thursday.

Hi Emma,
This morning, Gran decided that she wanted to get a mobility scooter. She doesn’t need one, she can walk really well and can even get in and out of the bath without assistance. It’s just the simple fact that, as she puts it, ‘every other old bugger on the planet has got one, why not me?’
Dad said they are for the physically disabled not the mentally challenged. He seemed to think that was really funny until Gran got her own back by tripping him up with her stick when he was carrying a pan of hot soup to the table. He was lucky, the only thing t that got scalded was his wallet. Mum reckons we need to redecorate the lounge now. She’s happy about that because it means she can get her favourite hunk of a handyman in to do the work. She’s obsessed with him. She even writes his name on the edges of the paper when she’s doing the crossword.
During a three hour stint on the phone, Gran rang the council, Mobility Plus, The Salvation Army, Help the Aged, (Mobility Plus again, because she said she wanted to speak to someone English this time,) Ferrari UK and Littlewoods catalogue returns. She even tried to get through to Downing Street in a vain attempt to get hold of a free scooter. Eventually she took the hint that no one was going to give her one, so she started looking through the for-sale pages in the paper but she had no luck there either. She finally found a free scooter, (excellent condition,) advertised on a card in the Post Office window. The owner only lived a couple of streets away, so we went round to have a look.
Mr Obingwya, answered the door and showed us round the back where the scooter was parked up. Gran asked him if he’d bought it with him from Africa, but he laughed and said he’d never been further than Northampton in his life. He asked us where the disabled person lived who needed the scooter. When I pointed at Gran, Mr Obingwya shook his head and said he was only going to give it to a genuinely disabled person. Gran suddenly lurched forward clutching her back like she’d been shot.
Mr Obingwya wasn’t impressed.
‘It comes and goes,’ Gran explained. ‘One minute I can walk normally, the next my legs give way and I’m left sat on my arse in the street. I want to get them chopped off and get some blade things like that Oscar Pissartist bloke has, but the council won’t fund me.’
Mr Obingwya gave Gran the benefit of the doubt, helped her into the scooter and showed her the controls. Before he could say test drive, Gran was off up the garden path like Louis Hamilton coming out of the pit lane.
By the time we got to the street, Gran was across the road and heading for the precinct. Shoppers flung themselves into doorways to get out of the way as she hurtled at full throttle down the pavement. I ran to try to catch up but my five inch heels weren’t made for sprinting and I went arse over tit in the middle of the road. I heard a screeching sound and when I opened my eyes I was looking into the number plate of a green double decker bus. The driver didn’t seem too bothered about it though, he stuck his thumb up and blew me a kiss. It was then that I realised I was flashing my g-sting at him. I got unsteadily to my feet, pulled down my skirt, gave him the finger and headed off to find Gran. She wasn’t hard to find as it turned out. A few seconds after I reached the pavement I heard a rebel yell and Gran and the old man she had challenged to a race, came hurtling down the pedestrian area side by side. Before I could shout, look out, they were round the corner and heading towards the Co-Op.
I found the geriatric boy racer lying underneath his upturned scooter next to the lamp post he had hit. I helped him get it upright again but instead of thanking me, he shook his fist and glared.
‘Where’s she gone the cheating old bag?’
I looked around. ‘I don’t know,’ I replied.
‘She stuck her fucking stick in my wheels, she could have killed me.’
I left the old codger looking for a traffic warden to report Gran to, and walked as quickly as I could to the Co-Op. I found Gran in the car park trying to pull a wheelie. Mr Obingwya found us a minute or so later and dragged her out of the scooter.
He told Gran she was a menace and ought to be locked up. Gran told him to piss off and said he ought to be ashamed of himself for trying to sell a scooter that didn’t have a fifth gear. Mr Obingwya reminded her that he wasn’t actually selling it and that it wasn’t meant go any faster than it did. Gran called him a liar and accused him of stealing the fast gears. She said she was going to put another card in the Post Office window telling everyone what he’d been up to.
Mr Obingwya said she was a crazy woman and he was going to take her to court if there was any damage to the scooter. Gran told him to piss off and said that no court in the land would convict her because his crappy scooter was slower than a one legged sloth with rickets. She told him that if he did take her to court she’d ring up Esther Rantzen and have him named and shamed on her, That’s Life TV show. He laughed and told her That’s Life wasn’t on TV anymore. Gran said that didn’t matter and she’d ring her on Childline instead.
I took Gran home via the back streets to avoid meeting up with her rickety racing rival. On the way home she suddenly had an idea.
‘I know, we’ll go carting. How do you fancy it Tracy? There’s a carting track up by Bluebell woods. Sheila Tomkins told me about it. I was going to join her protest to get it closed down but I think I’d like to try it out first. What do you think?’
I didn’t say anything. Muddy cart tracks and short skirts aren’t usually a good mix and I’m not going to turn up in public wearing scruffy old clothes. I’ll get out of it somehow. Gran’s memory is so bad she’ll have forgotten all about it by tea-time. It’s odd you know, she can remember everything that happened in the war and she was only a kid then but she can’t always remember to put her knickers on in the morning.
I don’t want to get old… ever.
See you later Emma, Mum wants me to look at the new wallpaper she bought.

Tracy’s Hot Mail, a snip at only £1.59p in ebook format Signed paperback available.
Tracy’s Celebrity Hot Mail released in August, by Crooked Cat Publishing.

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