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Conversations with Strangers, written by our Proprietor Carole Geach.

Hello my dear, have we met? Your face looks familiar but I forget.

I try to remember but it's such a strain, the cogs have rusted inside my brain.

I forget so much these days you know, like what month it is and where did my husband go?

The woman in the mirror is wrinkled and old, her hair is grey and her eyes are cold.

I wonder who stole my reflection from me, for that one isn't mine, it couldn't possibly be.

My own hair is warm like the hot summer sun, I don't have wrinkles or crows feet, not even one!

My eyes are friendly, my smile is bright, and it keeps my husband warm on a cold winter's night.

Ooh that husband of mine, now where could he be, probably off for a while, back out to sea.

He will return in a month or so, when his duty calls, he was obligated to go.

Oooh this memory of mine, it does play such tricks, T'is like building a house with just a handful of bricks.

Sorry my dear, I forgot you where there and I'm just wittering on with out so much a care.

I'm so rude, what must you think; I'm still yet to offer you a drink.

One minute love, I'll put the kettle on, if I could just remember where my kitchen has gone.

Would you perhaps give me a hand to get me upright and help me stand?

Oh my dear, why do you cry, I've upset you somehow and I don't know why.

Is it because I've bored you so, you owe me nothing, you're free to go.

I'm sorry I know not your face or your name, but you can visit again if it is not too much of a pain.

Now take this ole hanky and dry there them eyes, a young un' like you should realise.

Life is too short for sorrow and tears, embrace life all you can in your younger years.

What's that you say, you're almost 54, your about 18 I should say, and not a day more.

I myself am 32, and there's no way I'm younger than you.

Did you say I'm 83, you know not my age or anything of me.

So don't confuse my poor brain, I'm not mad but forgetful, whilst you are insane.

Young lady I've allowed you into my home, now I'd rather you leave; I'd like to be alone.

So the stranger picks up her bag and walks to the door, but just before leaving she turns once more.

With tears in her eyes she says "Bye Mum, I'll call again tomorrow just after one".

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