Magic Moments

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You join me this week in the attic, where my life is flashing before me. Mind the cobwebs, and please try to avoid stepping on Mr Dear’s train set. And if you’re wondering why we are both here, blame Mrs Clarke.

I first met Mrs Clarke on the school run, many years ago, and we rather bonded – but lost touch over time. On Wednesday, I was in the market and staring absent-mindedly at a remarkably large cauliflower when somebody tapped me on the shoulder.

‘It’s Rosie Dear, isn’t it?’ said the somebody, and I was forced to admit the essential truth of this.

‘You remember me, don’t you?’

The sensible answer to this question is: ‘I’m sorry, I’m having a senior moment. You’ll have to remind me.’ At our age, anybody will understand this. But of course most people are far too polite to admit that they have just been tapped on the shoulder by what, to all appearances, is a complete stranger.

Luckily, it didn’t take long to identify Mrs Clarke. She is a conversation waiting to happen. Within five minutes she’d told me everything about her two husbands, her four children, the unkind remarks about her cellulite, her poodle’s weight problem, and the fact that – despite what I might have thought all those years ago – she’s not really a natural blonde.

With that, she paused to take a breath. ‘Goodness me,’ she said at length. ‘Isn’t that an enormous cauliflower!’