You won’t enjoy this post if you need pictures. None were taken.

We did an unplanned trip to an eatery in the Land Rover, cutting through the dark on broad asphalt boulevards with traffic lights the only obstacle. Rain never much let up, so I had to use the wind screen wipers, which are loud going one way and smooth going the other.

At the eatery we parked and emerged into the light drizzle and stood chatting with a couple of familiar lads who showed up to dine too.

Interesting place. I liked it. My fellow diners  knew the lay of the land and pointed out that my receipt contained a nice extra in that if one took a survey, then it would lead to a free sandwich. So I handed that over and they jumped through the hoops, got the sandwich, and divided it up.

I’d been meaning to try the place out and was happy to do it with friends.

So then we piled in the British Behemoth and went to get gas because the gauge said empty. I was at the back door waiting till everyone got in so I could shut it and as soon as the weight of passengers compressed the springs the water on the roof reversed and poured onto my head.

The guy at the pump was a pleasant lad. No help was offered by him, because where I live you pump your own fuel. We had light conversation with him in the which he learned that am “Otis” (the name I give where ever strangers ask) and sometimes Frank. The youngest passenger in the back seat was Regan but he heard wrong when she told him. He thought she was Raven, so he got just one syllable right and bid us well saying, “Bye Frank Otis, and Raven”. He did better than me. I don’t recall his name even though he told us. I was just there to feed the car.

I delivered the passengers to their house and headed home.