A dark winter evening
and I'm driving home from work. At one junction, there's an old fella, dithering and faltering at the side of the road, obviously trying to cross but having trouble judging a safe interval between cars. "Poor old fool" I thought, then in a pang of guilt, I pulled over, got out of the car and went over to him.

He was an elderly West Indian gent - pork-pie hat, grey overcoat, short silvery beard. As I came up to him, he was muttering "Oh god... oh me god... damn ting, damn ting..." And as he turned to me, I saw he was very, very drunk.

"Come on mate, let's get you across here" I said, stepping out with one hand raised. The cars stopped, and I led him over. "Oh god..." he muttered "Where am I?"
I smothered a laugh. He hadn't wanted to cross the road. In fact he didn't know what he wanted. With a sigh, I led him back across, and over to my car. He got into the passenger seat well enough, and I asked him where he lived. "Oh god..." he muttered, "I never drink again... never again".

I couldn't get an address from him, only that it "wasn't far." So we ended up driving around the streets nearby, him saying "No, not dis one... there, over there.... oh god, no, not that... oh god I never drink again..." - and me giggling as quietly as I could.

Eventually we rocked up at a house he recognised. I helped him out, and to the the front door. He rang the bell, and a short, stout, very fierce-looking old lady opened up. I started to explain "Is this his house? He's got a bit lost..."
"GET IN HERE YOU BAD MAN!!" she screeched at him; and he sheepishly entered. She glared at me, gave a curt nod, and shut the door. I walked back to the car in fits of laughter, imagining the bollocking that was now in progress. A dreary winter night considerably enlivened.
(North Utsira South Utsira, Fri 10 Feb 2012, 23:26, 1 reply)

How cruel of you..
It would have been kinder of you to NOT take him home.
(Barnetboy, Sat 11 Feb 2012, 13:24, closed)