Driving Miss Daisy

Been busy overt here lately, I’ve been driving all over the shop, I’ll be heading down Doncaster way to pick my beautiful Miss Daisy up at the airport they got up there next week. It’s a little tradition we have now when she’s going away for work: I take her up to Liverpool Airport when she’s on her way out. I park up and walk her over to the terminal and wave her away. I love waving her away, I never used to be able to do it because the parking was so bloody dear. But I’ve been checking this Liverpool Airport car parking website thing recently and I’ve saved a pretty penny. I’m not one for getting all excited about the latest gismo, but I know that its worked for me. So there you go. You gotta show appreciation when something or someone helps you out. I believe that. It’s done me good so far.

download (2)


My Daisy don’t look at me quite so mean.

It’s been a week of strange goings on round here. Coincidences are abound in my little corner of Hillam. It’s making your fellow here a little uncomfortable. I’m not really one for superstition, I reckon about 90% of all things are coincidence, its a raw old coincidence that I was in a bar taking a drink on my first ever trip to London back in 1964 and the most beautiful lady I’d ever seen walked through the door. It was a bare coincidence that she was stood up by some fellow who must have been the stupidest bloody idiot in the world. It just so happened that she sat down there next to me, ordered herself a whisky sour and caught my eye. From then on we start going into a little more design. It wasn’t coincidence that I suddenly felt that I had the ability to talk to this stranger. I had to talk to her, I had to know one way or the other. I had to watch her laugh and hear her stories. I had look into her eyes as they skipped up and down from her drink and her hands, flicking down and then back, holding my gaze for a moment before jumping away. It was no coincidence that neither of us can really remember what we said that night. We weren’t really talking with what we were saying. We were sharing something much more than what we were saying. We were sharing it whenever we locked eyes.

You know when you find yourself in these moments, when your talking to someone and you’ve been talking to them all night and you’re laughing and joking and revealing yourself far more than you normally would. There’s always that slow transition toward physical intimacy. Sure, this transition is demarcated by big, sudden steps. But these are often not the real moments of risk. By the time you get to the point where you put your arms around their waste and pull them into you, when your kissing and your foreheads are touching, when you pull just a little away and breath heavily together and open your eyes. By that time, you both know this is happening, you know that the other is feeling the same thing.

But that all starts with the silliest little pretences, where you let your leg just rest against theirs and act as if you didn’t even know it was happening, even though your entire body feels it. The little spot where the two of you are connecting. When you unnecessarily touch their hand to illustrate some story or other, you hold onto it a little longer than you need to, you know that you’re barely hearing your own words, you can barely remember what excuse you found for touching their hand. They look in your eyes, you try so hard to read the gaze. Or maybe you just know. You prolong the physical contact and bring your hands back down to the table or as it was that night, the bar, and you let them stay together. Two are now one. That’s the moment of risk. It’s not the kiss in the moonlight, it’s the hand on the arm. It’s not when you kick the bedroom door closed, its the brush of the leg. The little touch to the shoulder they give you as you walk around a corner. As if you need help to get around a corner! Just need that little guidance to navigate the nightmare of the 90 degree turn. These little touches can look patronising or odd or out of place. But they’re all just love, or the yearning for it. The yearning for contact and togetherness. These are the true moments of vulnerability.

This morning I drove out to Doncaster to pick up my very own Miss Daisy. I used a Doncaster Airport parking website thing to get a good place for the van. The world is hard to navigate. Theres so many people out there. Far more than there are parking spaces at a bloody airport. With finding that special person you have to accept that a lot of it will be chance, a lot of it will be coincidence, you just have to try and get yourself ready to take that chance when it comes along. No website can get rid of that situation. And neither should you want one too. But with parking spaces, I’ll accept a little less chaos and a little more certainty.

About the Author

No comments

Leave a Reply