‘Oh Susannah, don't you....'.
There are times when I really regret having chosen that for the ring tone on my house phone. It's one of those tunes that keep playing repeatedly in your head to the exclusion of everything else. I keep promising myself that I'll change it but forget once I've put the handset down. I was in the middle of repotting the pelargoniums when it began and I am completely unable to ignore it. I know at the back of my mind that if it is important whoever it is will call back but I have to make every effort to get to it before it stops. Who knows, it could be the Queen offering me an OBE for my services to the community, or Penguin giving me a multi million pound deal for exclusive rights to my latest novel? In my heart of hearts I know that it will be a call centre in India offering me double glazing, mobile phones or a chance to cut the cost of my utility bills but until I pick up the receiver it could be anything – I am forever the optimist. In my haste 'Ginger Rogers', my prize pelargonium, as recommended by Monty Don, ended up on the conservatory floor. The beautiful crimson petals seeming to reproach my carelessness. The lounge then became an obstacle course with newspapers, shoes, cups all making a valiant attempt to prevent me reaching my goal in time. My hand stretched out just as the ring tone arrived at the phrase 'I thought I saw Susannah dear...' With a sinking heart I realised, having been singing along with the tune, that it was here that it cut out. I snatched it up only to get the dialling tone. I immediately dialled 1471; "You were called today at 13.21. The caller withheld their number.' Feeling quite disgruntled I returned to my horticultural pursuits. 'Ginger Rogers' had carefully been replaced in her pot when - 'Oh Susannah, don't you cry for me;' The poor plant met its penultimate fate on the tiles as I misjudged its placement on the table in my mad dash to get to the phone.

"Hi Lou, its Susie!" A soft Texan drawl with overtones of Black Country greeted me. My friend Susie. She had gone to the US about ten years ago and had stayed. A dizzy blonde, about four foot ten tall, surprising green eyes and a very vulnerable appearance that had men falling over themselves to help her. She is extremely soft hearted and I think cats in the state of Texas know this and they camp out on her doorstep. Unfortunately this trait is not restricted to those of the feline race, as she also seems to attract lame ducks of the human kind, usually the male of the species. She has a number of failed marriages and relationships to her name.

"It's lovely to hear from you. How are you?"

"I'm here in England, staying at my sister's. It was all last minute; I got a really good deal on the airplane ticket. Sorry I didn't have time to tell you before I left. Can we meet up this week somewhere?" I was not a bit surprised at this, she is completely scatty and many things are done impulsively.

"I've got myself into a bit of a fix and I could do with your help." Here it comes I thought.

"What have you done now?"

"Well, I've arranged to meet this man." Nothing unusual in that I thought.

"The problem is I’ve only spoken to him on the phone. I’ve never met him."

I waited for her to continue.

"I said I'd meet him outside the Art Gallery. He said I'd have no trouble recognising him, he walks using two sticks. How could I let him down after that?"

This sounded like the lamest of lame ducks yet!

"'And?"

"Lou, I'll have to go there's someone at the door. I'll meet you in the Edwardian Tea Room on Tuesday at eleven. I'm meeting him at one. We'll catch up on everything then. Must dash. Bye!''

I thoughtfully walked back to try to rescue 'Ginger Rogers’ knowing that there would be quite a tale to tell on Tuesday.’