“Want to buy some meat?”
I looked down to where the tip of a polished boot was delicately tapping a white, cellophane wrapped package along the narrow pavement on Amberley Road, Armley.
The woman smiled broadly, giving the package a final wallop.
“Burgers!” said her companion, a tall chap clasping a couple of large shopping bags that looked likely to spill more of their contents at any moment.
“Sorry, erm… I’m vegetarian”, I muttered, hoping for a break in traffic so I could slip by on the road and carry on my way.
“You got a girlfriend?” asked the woman with the unbreaking smile. “She’d love this.”
The woman rummaged in the carrier bag she was holding and thrust a teddy bear towards me. I’m not a maven in the stuffed anthropomorphised animal field but even I recognised that no woman I could ever call a friend would interpret this particular specimen as an appropriate gift. This wasn’t exactly a baby Oleg meercat. It was a sickly shade of purple.
“No, no, it’s fine,” I said, “I’m just off to the shop…”
“Pants?” said the chap. At first I thought he meant to contradict me and I was about to point at the Asda in the distance and tell him it was true, I was indeed destined for the supermarket, there, look! He jiggled the bag in his left embrace and winked. His companion took the clue and retrieved another cellophaned package. This one was lilac. Or maybe mauve; I wasn’t about to investigate the precise shade. Anyway, it was one of those colours I thought died out in the Great War.
“Honestly…” I couldn’t think of anything to say and instead raised my hands upwards in a gesture of pleading. Then I spotted a gap in the traffic and nipped by my smiling accosters without even so much as a good bye. I felt relieved.
On my way back up the hill home I noticed the packet of burgers had been removed. I didn’t really give that much thought. Then, a couple of minutes from my door I noticed the pair of meat and mauve goods purveyors exiting one of the small local shops – the one that doesn’t sell wine, which is why I rarely frequent the place. The pair were still smiling. They were positively euphoric, laughing and joking and tickling as they headed along Hall Lane. They were also strikingly empty handed. Burgers, hosiery, cuddly toys… where had they gone?
In less than twenty minutes 3 large bags of random, improbable knock-off items had been dispersed into the Armley economy in exchange for… what? Cash I suppose. They certainly weren’t interested in barter when they approached me.
Which leaves me pondering. There’s some poor family around here sitting down to a meal of irresponsibly sourced beef, some kid cuddling a synthetically stuffed creature, and some ladies pulling on bubble-gum coloured breeches… I don’t know what to make of this.
Armley sure has character.