Never Judge a Book...

This is the first of the stories inspired by my grandmother. In this particular instance the story comes from the latter part of her life when I was a young lad and living with her, my grandfather and my great grandfather.

She came back from town one day, a heavily laden string bag in each hand, and told us of an encounter she'd had on her way home. Struggling a bit with the shopping (for she was as round as she was tall and wouldn't use a shopping trolley 'because it makes me look like an old lady') she paused to take a deep breath before attempting a large flight of steps. Lounging around the base of the steps were a group of youths in full punk regalia – all tartan, safety pins and mohican haircuts).

Totally unintimidated she approached the youths.

“You boys couldn't give me a hand up these stairs with my shopping, could you?” she asked, sweetly.

And they did. Two of them took a bag apiece whilst another two assisted her up the stairs. They then carried the shopping to the bus stop and saw her safely onto the bus.

Never Judge A Book... is in the same vein but involves two ladies in a charity chop and the visit of a young Goth with respiratory problems.

"Better keep an eye on that one," Iris advised, "make sure he doesn't slip anything into that bag of his. He looks the sort."

"D'you think?" asked Nancy, eyeing the apparition with concern.

"Of course he is," scoffed Iris, "you've only got to take one look at him to tell."

* * *

And so Iris told Mrs T. all about the youth and the collapsing bookshelves finishing up with: "...and then, just before he left, he put a bag down on the counter and you'll never believe what was in it," she paused for effect, "a load of Mills and Boon paperbacks!"

If Iris had expected a reaction then she was disappointed as the conversation was interrupted by a loud, coarse voice behind her.

"'allo Mrs T. I see you got company."

Iris turned to face the source of this annoyance.

"Good Lord," she said, "It's Vlad the Inhaler."

The outcome of the encounter is as heart-warming as my grandmother's story of the punks with the shopping but, of course, with a twist.

Never Judge A Book... is the third story from the anthology Not Just For Twisted Women by Steve Daniels

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