It’s windy at the café but I find a table in a relatively sheltered spot next to a family with three fractious toddlers, all of whom are vying for first place in a tantrum competition. Maybe I can photograph them too? I’ll have to work my seat round a bit to bring them into view… only then a dapper man, venerable but sprightly, comes over to me and asks if he can share my table out of the wind? “Of course” I reply. As he sits down there is that tense moment when I’m wondering if my new tablemate is going to start telling me the KKK had some good ideas, or something, but it’s ok, he just remarks that he used to smoke my brand of tobacco before he gave up.
The wind is being mischievous, jerking the windbreaks and the parasols which, being attached to the tables, means we both have to dive for our teas, half their contents now running shorewards across the green plastic. Then a girl wearing a crown of blue artificial flowers bounces up. She seems to know the dapper man. He gets up to buy her a tea, leaving me alone with her. We smile, as you do, and I’m expecting her to sit and wait for him, but she launches straight into this bubbly interview, only without the gaps you’re supposed to leave for replies. She’s asking me “Don’t you think weddings are so wonderful?” and she’s just been to such a beautiful one up the road and the bride and groom are so happy and she’s going to do so many things and…
And I’m just wondering if I can find a way of sneaking off but at the same time I’m fascinated. The dapper man returns with two more teas which he places on the table. The wind immediately responds, jerking the umbrella, so now there are four little streams running across the table towards the shore. The girl lifts up her mug and cradles it while continuing about the wedding at which, it seems, she was dressed as a plastic champagne bottle, she then spreads a map of Inverness in front of me telling me she’s just run the entire route outlined in red biro and extolling the beauty of the Scottish countryside. She adds that we all need to work towards ecologically sound transportation. The dapper man takes some exception to this, telling her that, as a species, we are not yet evolved enough. Then he tells me that she is an artist, or certainly very creative, although the girl replies that she is into P.E. and she’s going to be running around the whole of Scandinavia soon – she likes to keep things off the map – and then tells me I should get married again (again? I haven’t actually told her I’m divorced) because she thinks I’d look really smart in a suit. In fact she thinks we should all get married again, despite the fact that her last marriage was a disaster, but after all she was very young then (how old is she now? She doesn’t look more than about twenty). “You should both be married!” she repeats. The dapper man and I both “hmm” in unison. He likes his freedom. This morning he woke up and decided he was going to go to the races, he didn’t have to ask anyone else what they thought and he’s now won £290, but she’s off again about ecologically sound global transportation and the dapper man makes the mistake of telling her she lacks experience, to which she snaps back with a lecture about ageism, not helped by him saying “but you won’t tell me how old you are?” And yet they both seem to like each other and the argument is a bit like the ones you see between old married couples.
I’m transfixed. I can’t work out if I’m enjoying this or not, but I think I probably am and anyway, if he doesn’t know how old she is, then how well do they know each other? I’d assumed he was an uncle or grandfather, but now I’m beginning to wonder. I start to drift, letting their conversation wash over me like a play on the radio you aren’t really listening to. Only then I see a wheelchair, thankfully empty, accelerating directly towards a table occupied by a couple eating fried breakfasts. There is a crash and some exclamations. Two seagulls take advantage of the confusion to grab a few gulletfulls of chips. The dapper man, trying to see what’s happened, leans forward in his chair, which gives way at the legs, sending him sprawling. The girl and I both get up to help him and she’s instantly off to dispose of the broken chair. While she’s gone I take the opportunity to ask him how long they’ve known each other, to which he replies “Good God man! I only met her an hour ago while we were both watching the same wedding. When I suggested a cup of tea I was being polite, I didn’t expect her to follow me.”
The girl is now back, telling us that a broken chair is good luck and she wants to go to a fox hunt but she thinks it’s a pity that foxes get killed and can’t the dogs just follow and she could run along with them? The dapper man interjects, saying that fox-hunters are all townies. I try to add my own comments on this topic but since they are both off again on quite independent conversations I relax back into my chair. The girl really just wants to see one fox in the UK as she’s lived here for a while now but she’s only ever seen them in Finland. The dapper man and I are surprised as you can see them hanging round the town’s bins on most nights. The girl wants to know if they eat rabbits and are there lots of rabbits in town too? The dapper man says myxomatosis was a terrible thing and he hasn’t eaten a rabbit in years. The girl then asks us how long we’ve known each other, to which we reply that we’ve just met. She thinks this is great and I should take a picture, which I do, after which I feel we really should introduce each other.
“Chris”.
“Noel”
“Donna Lukander Victory Of Truth, at the moment, but I’m experimenting with names.” “Do you have one that’s a bit more stable we can use in the meantime?”
“Oh, well, the name my family gave me is Iida”
At this point a short-handled broom flies past us, missing our table by only a few feet. Andrew the table-clearing man is back from his holidays and evidently the pigeons have become far too friendly in his absence. As the cloud of startled birds lifts off into the air I sit back in my chair once more, knowing my day is now complete.
Umbrellage 