NICE OF YOU

Grandad’s back home. We went to a cafe near where he lives. He gave me money and said, ‘get a couple of cakes for us.’
He’d said on the way, ‘a cup of tea and a Chelsea bun, that’s what I want.’
‘I don’t think they’ll have a Chelsea bun where we’re going.’
‘Oh well, but I’d still like a Chelsea bun.’
We sat without talking. Grandad lit a cigarette and I filmed him stub it out in the ashtray the waiter had replaced the full one with was at the table when we sat down.
Someone held the door for us when we left.
‘Thank you,’ said Grandad. ‘That’s very nice of you.’
I lived near Easton swimming pool years ago and would buy screws and nails and rawplugs from a shop just round the corner on Stapleton Road.
At the counter where I paid for the items I wanted, the man, who I assumed owned the shop, seeing as he was there every time I went in - and who did rather well out of it too judging by the big red BMW I’d seen him drive and park on the road outside the shop - would say, ‘nice of you.’