Quiet New Year's Day

We were heading home from sanding and painting, and we were nearly there. New Year's Day, barely a car on the road, the streets almost deserted. It is so nice when it is like that, and so rare now a days.

We were approaching Brunswick Street on Victoria Street, Fitzroy (not Victoria Parade, but Victoria Street) and there were three old people about to cross, a man and two women on the left hand side.

The man set off across the intersection well ahead of our approach, like a warrior, all 190 centimetres of him, like a Doctor Seuss character leading with his neck. The two girls – truthfully neither had been girls since 1942 – stood back waiting for me to stop.

The taller one of the two, eyed me off something fierce, I could see she was no nonsense, and probably in her 70th year of marriage with he who went before them.

I'd come to a complete stop and they were still hesitating. I had my window open, so I said through the open space, "Come on ladies, give way to pedestrians, off you go." (I wish I'd thought of, Come on ladies, you don't have much time left, so get on with it, but I didn't)

The taller of the two strode across. When the shorter of the two got to the middle of the road she turned stiffly, you know how the old turn their whole body to turn to say something, she and the elasticity from her muscles and skin had long since parted company. She was chinless, thick glasses that gave her that appearance of eyes-too-big-for-her-head, like Grandma Yetta, and she had a mouth like a torn purse, which she opened and said, in one long monotone bleat, 

"You are going too fast. You are going too fast." 

If it had been a text it would have been in all capitals. Every word, and every syllable of every word had exactly the same emphasis. Pushed out with a sense of urgency, I assume, before she forgot what she was going to say altogether.

I don't know what speed I was going, it was probably 40 kph in that section of Victoria Street, maybe 50 kph, who knows with Melbourne's crazy stupid speed limits, and I wasn't going 40kph, probably not 50 kph either, because I'm not vying for social credits with the CCP. I wouldn't have been doing any more than 60 kph though. 

I had pulled up a car's length from the intersection so I hadn't got anywhere near them. I had stopped and given way to them, what was it to her how fast I was going before I got to her?

"No, not going too fast," I said through my window. "Not going too fast at all." There were a couple of things that flashed through my head to add, but I didn't.

She turned her whole body away from me, and started to shuffle to the other footpath. I think she'd just had her hair set. Would I call that blue, or purple? I'm sure I could see the edges of an incontinence pad in rear of her green nylon slacks, you know when their arse's resemble a small hatchback. Her trousers made the "ffff ffff ffff ffff ffff" sound as she waddled away.

I was driving my other car, which has a sports exhaust on it, so it is louder than your average car. (It got a road worthy last December to get club plates, so it isn't too loud) I think those who were teenagers before 1950 can get noise confused with speed. And with her bird like face and quadecker-focals, I'm doubtful I would have been in full focus even when she was criticising my speed to my face, and I could have had a chance of convincing her, at that point, I'm pretty sure, that I was riding a refrigerator bareback (my car is white) – that's without a saddle, and not without a condom, you understand, such was the age of her eyes.

But, I had to admire the wiry little terrier for having a go, I mean to say, you’ve got to respect that commitment in the face of danger, now don't you.

"Happy New Year," I called after her.

She raised her hand up to her side above her head without looking around, as if to say I am done with you.

But, I took it as Happy New Year to you too.