Being fifty-something doesn’t mean that date night isn’t interesting.
Quite the opposite. Take last night for instance.
Mr P and I headed into the city (on foot) for an Indian meal. As we readied to cross the highway we noticed a long (very long) piece of timber moulding on the footpath, obviously displaced from a truck as it screeched to a sudden stop at the traffic lights (Mr P says I’m jumping to conclusions).
Perhaps it slid from a car rooftop as it slowed (not enough) to navigate the corner (more conclusions, says he).
It looks like cedar (a giant leap, says he).
There and then, we made a pact: if it’s still here when we return, we’ll carry it home.
On we went, to the Kahn Curry Hut (No. 2) where we enjoyed Chicken Madras, Lamb Szabsi, Saffron Rice, Garlic Naan and a bottle of local Pinot Noir.
Out we headed into the fresh night air, for our usual after-dinner on-foot journey home.
As we crossed the highway, we could see our prize was still there, on the footpath for all the world to see. Though it was dark now.
We took one look at it, one look at one another, and sprung into action … he at the front (steering) and I at the rear (puffing) we hefted the timber up under our arms and made for home.
It didn’t escape us just how odd we looked, wandering down the road, late at night with this long (very long) plank of timber suspended between us.
It felt like a wicked collaboration of sorts and we jollied each other on with maniacal laughter.
In the distance we could see the dim (Dickensian) light of the local Irish pub and the telltale cloud of smoke signalling the smokers huddled on the footpath outside.
On a normal night, we would stop in at Irish Murphy’s for a nightcap. Tonight was not normal. We doubted we could trust these ne’er-do-well smokers with OUR prize so we decided to walk nonchalantly through the huddle, without making eye contact, and hoping for the best.
Of course, we looked more Three Stooges than nonchalant. Possibly, we whistled as we went. I couldn’t be certain. Still, there wasn’t a comment from the gallery and we walked on (just a little faster).
At the next corner, we opted to turn off the main road and head for the cobbled laneways that thread their way through our neighbourhood. Their tight twists and turns demanded mathematical precision … lucky Mr P was at the helm, yelling directions back to me in the rear, in the manner of a farcical slapstick comedy skit.
We had one more main road to cross. We waited on the curb (forever) for a lengthy break in the traffic to enable us to sprint across with our prize.
(Surely there’s an arcade game based on this exact same scenario.)
Finally we reached home and carried our loot into the garage for closer inspection under lights.
Even better. It DOES look like cedar. It’s a fine piece of timber.
Now, we don’t consider ourselves criminals. (Hell, our friends would probably describe us as tiresomely straight.) We see this as a rescue of a found object. We’ve saved it from the inevitable … those (other) drunks making their way home from the city would have thrown it on the road to be smashed into tiny splinters by gargantuan truck tyres.
We reasoned that it more than likely would have ended up over our front fence anyway, like so many finials and fence palings do on such Saturday nights.
Indeed, we have done a good deed for the community (and the planet) by rescuing this item.
Still, if you see us on Crimestoppers, captured on CCTV, mum’s the word. OK?
You know nothing.
Imagine the intro’: Inebriated fifty-something couple walks the plank in the urban jungle
Then they’d zoom in for the mandatory close-up of me looking furtively (OK, guiltily) over my shoulder. I knew I should have reapplied my lip gloss for that trip home.
Then another close-up of me laughing maniacally. If I’d thought ahead I could have applied some dramatic Cruella Deville style red lippy to help with that shot.
While I wait (drapes drawn) for the constabulary to knock on the door, I will, of course, make some enquiries to see if I can track down the rightful owners.
If I can’t unearth them within a few days … I fear it will be too late.
Mr P has plans to split the loot and “launder the money” if you will.
He’s already measuring to dissect the plank up so it’s unrecognisable as several of these masterpieces: