Danger, Danger Will Robinson!

Lottie made one of her infrequent flying visits. I thought of it Sunday, when she said she was heading into the city, yesterday morning, to have her hair cut. She even suggested that she might.

The trouble was that after a few numbers, I'd forgotten all about it. When I heard the ding dong and the you-who, I was mid toke, chat lines, cock ring, track suit with no underwear. Actually, it wasn't that bad, but I'm sure the house smelt like a Bedouin brothel, all that was missing was a hooker.

Then I heard the second voice... but of course. Lottie collects people wherever she goes. She will always have found a guide, if ever she has to break out into unknown - some what unfamiliar - lands. Of course, her champion was always my father.

I had to bide for time. No need to panic, she had someone to play with for a good five, ten minutes at a stretch.

I always find that in those moments, it's better to go back to scratch. So I turned off the computer, hid the mull paraphernalia, in my grandfather's desk, what's more, flung the windows open, took my only give away sign, my hot cup of tea and got into bed. I lay getting my, somewhat, smokey breath, as I listened to Lottie give gardening tips down stairs, below in my front garden.

Count back wards from one hundred.

Breath one, two, three, four.

Saunter over, open the balcony doors and sound as just-woken-up as I could possibly muster. My stagger and near tumble over the balcony, seen by nobody but myself, did nothing for my confidence.

Hello, I said shakily.

They both looked up and I was met with such gratitude, from a rather nice looking, secretary or government worker, I'd guess at.

I opened the door, some minutes later, I was in no hurry. I emptied the ash trays.

Hello. You're home, beamed Lottie. This is (I forget her name now) I met her on the tram.

How nice, I said calmly.

I just showed her down Gertrude Street, beamed now nameless. But, I've got to go. Get back to work. Goodbye Lottie, nice to meet you.

You had better come in for a cup of tea.

I questioned Lottie about the house for sale in my street and how she could move there and not be so lonely, but by that time she looked very comfortable and small, holding an over-sized coffee cup didn't help, nestled safely in my big couch.

She kept getting the number of the tram mixed up... well, she was leaving on a different tram to which she arrived on. We sat and chatted for an hour. I tried to keep my eyes from crossing. I like my mum. The afternoon sun shone through the windows.

She smelt nothing. She was hopeless with that when I was a kid. She never smelt the smoke on her sixteen year old's breath. In fact, had she been better at it, I may not have smoked in my adult life. Ha, ha!

We drank tea, I walked her to the tram stop.

Do you know where you are? I asked her in Victoria Parade.

Of course I do, she said. Then she plotted the entire local grid impeccably, out to me allowed, as a wind blew down Victoria Parade, as we waited for a new tram. Not dead yet, she said.

I can see the old lady in her now, though, it's no longer glimpses, just around the edges, she's morphing. Even if it's only the momentary lapse just now.

There was a gay boy, in his thirties, looking out of the tram window at us, as it pulled up. I kissed Lottie and then she had to find the door, too much glass. She smiled, as if to say silly me, when she found the door. The gay guy smiled, as if at some fond memory. Lottie stood just in front of him and waved. I waved her good bye and as the tram slid along, as my eyes did, I waved the gay boy good bye too. He smiled in return.